“I’m Tony. What’s your friend’s name?”
“Gabe Lincoln. I’m Dan Lukens.”
“It’s a good thing you’ve done here—helping your friend. When I saw you, I knew I wanted a pal like that.”
Dan smiled—the first one he’d attempted since the siege began. “Welcome, Tony. I’d be honored to be considered your friend.”
Twenty
DECIDES SETTLING OF COAST EVACUEES: WAR
RELOCATION AUTHORITY TO PLACE 105,000
JAPANESE ON FEDERAL-OWNED LANDS
San Francisco, April 14—West Coast Japanese, numbering 105,000, who have waited to be moved from military area No. 1 under Army supervision, are to be settled in communities of 5,000 or more population on lands now owned or to be purchased by the federal government, under a policy announced today by Milton S. Eisenhower, director of the War Relocation Authority.
The evacuation of Los Angeles zones was completed during the day. The 2,500 evacuees went to the Santa Anita assembly center.
Lawrence E. Davies
Excerpt from the New York Times, April 15, 1942
Libby borrowed the small Interstate Cadet for the short flight down to the Los Angeles area. For weeks she’d remained holed up in her father’s house, granting some interviews, but mostly keeping to herself, trying to decide what part she could play for the war effort. Since she was too late to participate with the fliers in England, Libby hoped the United States would soon develop its own program.
Yet when the phone call came from Mrs. Lukens, Libby knew a trip to southern California was in order.
“It’s only for one day,” she told her father. “I’ll be back tomorrow.” Yet as she flew into the small airfield at Redondo Beach, the sight of the ocean caressing the shore brought it all back, and nothing sounded better than walking the shoreline and feeling the waves lap against her feet. Maybe two days would be okay.
The small plane touched down, then taxied down the runway lined with palm trees. She parked the plane, grabbed her small satchel from the passenger’s seat, and searched her flight suit for the directions to Dan’s house. His parents had assured her that she’d be able to catch a taxi from the airfield. So after seeing that the plane was taken care of, Libby made her way to the front of the building, her eyes scouring the parking area.
“Can I help you with something?”
Libby turned and looked into the face of a handsome man with hazel eyes and a broad smile. He was dressed in tan slacks and a white shirt buttoned at the collar. A greasy set of coveralls was thrown over his arm, and he held a metal lunch pail in the opposite hand.
“Pardon?” Libby combed her fingers through her hair.
“Just wondering if you needed a ride somewhere. You’re looking kinda lost.”
“Not lost, but I am looking for a taxi.” Her eyes scanned the parking lot once more. “It seems there isn’t one.”
“Where you headed?” He nodded his chin toward an old truck in the lot. “Just got off work. I can give you a ride.”
“I don’t think that’s a good idea, Mr….”
“Struthers.” He bowed low and pretended to tip a hat. “Sam Struthers, at your service.”
“I don’t think that’s a good idea, Mr. Struthers. I’ll just see if I can telephone a taxi. But thank you very much.”
Libby strode back into the small airport office and approached the counter. An elderly gentleman sat behind the desk, flipping through an old flight manual. From the looks of him, Libby was sure he must’ve flown with the Wright brothers.
“Go ahead, ask him.” Sam’s voice startled Libby.
She turned to see that he’d followed her inside.
“Ask him to vouch for me,” Sam repeated.
“Sam’s okay, little lady.” The gray-haired man lifted his head and winked. “One of my best mechanics and a gentleman too. He’s safe to give you a ride to town.”
“Well, okay then.” Libby tightened her grip around the satchel. “Do you know where Rivera Street is?”
“Know the place exactly.” Sam took the satchel from her hand, then waved his arm toward the office door. “After you.”
Ima Jean was as warm and friendly as Libby had imagined. Sam had dropped her off in front of the house; and before Libby could make it up the front steps, she found herself wrapped in the woman’s embrace.
“Come in, dear; we’re so happy to have you. Aren’t we, Alex?”
Her husband, who looked like an older version of Dan, smiled from the kitchen, where he was pouring Libby a cup of tea.
“Yes.” He grinned with an enthusiastic nod of his head. “Yes, we are.”
Libby looked around the cozy house and tried to imagine Dan growing up here. She glanced out the window at the two palm trees centered on the front lawn and the similar houses lining the block.
“He used to play in those two trees.” Ima Jean lifted a teacup to her lips and nodded toward the lawn. “One summer he and his buddies made an airplane out of scraps of lumber. They figured out a pulley system between the trees that allowed them to raise and lower it.”
“Do you have any photographs? Of when Dan was a boy?”
Ima Jean led her to the living room wall. “We always wanted more children, but it wasn’t in God’s plan.” She pointed to a photo of a chubby toddler sitting on the back of a wooden rocking horse.
“It didn’t matter, though.” Dan’s father peered through his glasses. “He made us proud enough for a dozen sons.”
“Have you heard anything more?” Libby looked to the next photo of Dan in elementary school, flashing a wide grin, minus two front teeth, at the camera.
Alex’s voice was thick with emotion. “Not since the newspaper article. But it sure made me proud reading that.”
Ima Jean brought out a small album. “Here’s one of him on the UCLA football team.” She ran a finger down the page. “He got a full scholarship.” She flipped to the next one. “And this is the day he received his pilot’s license. Have you ever seen a bigger smile?”
Libby placed a hand over her mouth, unable to answer.
Ima Jean patted Libby’s cheek. “Now, don’t you worry. It’s okay to shed a few tears. Lord knows I have. Daniel’s a fighter. He’ll make it. And you know why?”
Libby pressed her lips together and shook her head.
“Because he has you to think of. The prettiest, kindest, sweetest, smartest girl he’s ever met … and those are his words exactly.”
Her eyes moved to the ring on Libby’s hand. “May I see?”
Libby held up her hand with the gold band for Ima Jean’s inspection.
“Yes, my son always did have good taste … and I’m not just meaning the ring.” She gave Libby’s hand a gentle squeeze. “Let me tell you what we need to do.”
Her light blue eyes reminded Libby of Dan even more.
“We need to pray like we’ve never prayed before. We don’t know what he’s going through right now, but God knows. And we’ll pray that God will shower upon Daniel an abundance of strength, wisdom, and whatever else he needs at this moment.”
The screaming monkeys mingled with the hooting of the owls, stirring Dan from his heavy sleep. Above him the sky was clear with brilliant stars. It reminded Dan of the sky he and Libby had walked under during one of their last nights together. Was she looking at the same sky, thinking of him?
These thoughts were soon pushed out of his mind as the shouts grew louder, and Dan was suddenly aware of a stinging feeling all over his back—like the bites of a thousand fire ants.
“Gabe, check my back, will you?” By the end of the day Gabe’s energy had rallied, and he had carried his own tattered body without help.
“Blisters everywhere.” Gabe winced. “Some have already split open.”
Dan realized they must be the same puffy water blisters he’d found under his arms and sides the previous day.
“I’ve heard they’re called Guam blisters.” Tony rose to his feet. “Just don’t scratch
them, or they’ll get infected.”
Dan didn’t have time to worry about scratching. Before he could speak another word, the Japanese soldiers urged them to their feet, and the march began once more.
Before long, the sun blasted down on them, and Dan thought back to the salty waves of Ewa Beach. He remembered Libby and the fresh mangos they had picked during a walk to her apartment from John Rodgers Airport. He smiled to himself, remembering the laughter of those carefree summer months.
Gabe and Tony trudged along beside him, but neither said a word. It was easier that way. Easier to bear up alone, lost in one’s own thoughts. Living in the world of memory rather than reality.
Dan stumbled on something in his path and landed hard on one knee. A Japanese voice sounded behind him, and he struggled back to his feet. But before Tony or Gabe could reach down to help him, another pair of arms hooked under his armpits from behind and hoisted him to his feet. As he righted himself, Dan glanced over to see the familiar face of the Philippine scout.
“Paulo!” Dan embraced his friend.
“You doing good now?” Paulo’s eyes were filled with concern.
Dan nodded and glanced back over his shoulder, quickening his pace.
“Here. This make you stronger.” Before Dan could object, the scout pushed half a can of meat into Dan’s hand. “It’s good. I have some for friends too.”
Dan’s jaw dropped as Gabe and Tony also received a can to share.
“I’ll be back later.” And before Dan could object, Paulo moved on, helping other weary soldiers down the line.
Trucks continued to move past, stirring up the dust. It was all Dan could breathe, all he could taste. Americans drove some trucks at bayonet point. The guards punctuated the marching with slapped faces, kicked shins, and brutal shoves that sent men sprawling to the ground. Each sadistic prank brought more laughter.
As they staggered on, the rains finally began. Dan stared upward in amazement, noticing clouds that had not been there before. He lifted his face to the sky and opened his mouth wide, accepting its offering. Then he opened his canteen and lifted it, thankful for fresh water to drink. In less than a minute, they were soaked to the skin. They continued on, feet sloshing in the muddy road, but the cool refreshment renewed Dan’s vigor.
Libby awoke to the sound of Ima Jean’s voice in the kitchen singing “Amazing Grace.” She pulled the yellow-and-blue quilt tightly to her chest and snuggled in deeper.
She was sleeping in Dan’s old room and loved being surrounded by his football trophies, Benny Goodman records, and, of course, model airplanes. How many hours did you spend playing make-believe with those?
It had been a wonderful visit, except for missing out on the beach. Last night they’d driven down to San Pedro Beach Park only to discover the streets packed. Army men were erecting sandbag-and-barbed-wire defenses along the waterfront. Cars and trucks filled with families crammed the streets. Taking a closer look, Libby had noticed that the families leaving were all Japanese.
“They’re being sent away to internment camps,” Alex Lukens had explained. “Over three thousand Japanese aliens and their children. It’ll make it safer. We can’t let what happened to Pearl Harbor happen here.”
Libby didn’t want to think about Pearl Harbor or the memories of caring for the injured after the attack. She threw back the covers and slid a robe over her nightgown. She scanned the walls of Dan’s childhood room. On the bookshelf sat paperback war pulps. On the wall, posters of flying aces Red Baron and Eddie Rickenbacker.
“You stay where you are.” Ima Jean entered with a tray. “A lady needs breakfast in bed once in a while.”
“Will you join me?”
“I’d be delighted.” She set down the tray and pulled up a chair. “I hope you like your bacon crisp and your toast dark. That’s the way Dan liked it.”
Libby laughed and lifted a slice of toasted bread from the tray. “Around our house, the only prerequisite is that it’s edible.”
The sun cast a golden mist over Hong Kong. Spring had come to the hills, and light yellow flowers filled the countryside surrounding Stanley with a terrific fragrance, sweet like nectar. Emerald trees set against the clear blue sky made it seem that all was well in the world.
But Natsuo knew it wasn’t. He’d been given the weekend off and was able to entertain himself by driving around the conquered countryside, but he found no leisure witnessing the smoldering houses and stray, starving animals. The main streets were filled with hawkers. As soon as the town was overrun, the Chinese—those who hadn’t been rounded up—had looted the houses and shops, and Natsuo was sure that anything was available for a price.
Hong Kong was in a stage of transition. Workmen continued to clean up roadways. In a matter of months, the debris would be cleared from Central Market along Queen’s Road, and the island would appear as it had before—only under a different rule.
Yet even as he took in the countryside, a certain prisoner’s face refused to leave his thoughts. And Natsuo knew what he had to do.
Entering the camp, he strode through the open-air courtyard. Heat radiated from the dirt roads under his boots, but a soft ocean breeze cooled his face. Natsuo moved through the streets, noting that the roofs of houses and corners of buildings and roads were still marked by shrapnel. Finally, outside a small bungalow, he spotted her. She sat in the grass with her two youngsters, reading from a large children’s book. Her eyes filled with fear as Natsuo approached; then they softened.
“I would like a word with you.” He nodded in the direction of a fallen log now used for seating.
“It’s you. You’re the one who saved me.”
Natsuo noticed she still wore the same dress, but the ripped collar had been stitched up with thick brown thread.
“I wanted to see how you fared.” He looked closely at her. “Is there anything I can help you with?”
Dark circles sagged under her eyes, and her thin, nervous hands worked in her lap. “Actually.” She let her breath out in a low sigh. “Some of us mothers have created a list of requests, but we’re afraid to submit it.”
“Do you have this list with you?”
The woman nodded, rose, and slipped into the bungalow. In a moment she was back and handed him a slip of paper. Handwritten words had been written around the title page of a book.
Natsuo scanned the list. “No promises, but I’ll see what I can do.”
“Thank you, sir.” The woman grasped his hands, then quickly pulled away. She glanced around the compound to see if the guards had noticed her actions.
Natsuo’s eyes did the same. Strangely, he felt both fear and excitement. “No promises,” he said again. Then he turned and strode away.
A smile curled on the lips of the camp commander as Natsuo approached with the list of requests.
“Sir, the prisoners. Well, they are in need of some items and have prepared a list of requests. It is not much.” He lowered his gaze, showing he was still the ever-dedicated servant of the emperor.
“Go ahead.” The commander offered a wave of his hand. “Humor me.”
Natsuo cleared his throat and began. “Permission is sought for each prisoner to write next of kin a simple statement that he or she is alive.
“Request is made that at least one item of European food be included in the rations.
“Request for a Roman Catholic priest to enter camp.
“Request for drugs and medicines for those seriously ill and dying from dysentery.
“Permission to bury in a cemetery those who have already died.
“And they have a request for toilet articles and bedding. That is all.” Natsuo stood silent, his eyes still fixed on the paper in his hands.
“Is it all?” The commander steepled his fingers and placed them before him on his desk. “Permission denied. You are excused.” He cleared his throat.
Natsuo dared to lift his gaze, his eyes meeting the commander’s stone-cold glare.
“And next time you
are asked … know that the emperor judges how his prisoners are cared for—not you.”
Natsuo bowed low. “Thank you, sir. Long live the emperor.” He turned and hurried from the room as fast as his legs would take him.
Then he knew. He wasn’t adept at playing his charade after all. He’d seen it in the commander’s eyes. Natsuo teetered on the fine line between honor … and disgrace. His concern for the prisoners had cost him the respect of his superior.
What have I done? Why do I not learn?
Dan scanned the faces of the Filipinos who gathered along the roadsides offering cups and pitchers of water. Some handed out cigarettes and ice cream. Others kind words. The faces of the Japanese soldiers reddened with anger, and they swung at the crowds, knocking many to the ground with cries of pain. Yet the faithful pushed forward, attempting to provide what they could for the captured GIs.
Ahead a road sign read SAN FERNANDO. Could this be their destination?
The Filipinos seemed in shock to see the tiny Japanese driving the Americans along. The GIs, after all, had driven the Spanish out of the Philippine Islands. The United States had reigned over the islands for forty years and had promised the Filipinos their independence if they helped them defend the islands from the Japanese. Still, though most couldn’t offer more, the compassion in their gazes was like balm to Dan’s soul.
Behind them, an American soldier’s cries filled the air. Dan turned.
The GI’s eyes were wild, and Dan knew he’d lost his mind. The soldier shouted at the top of his lungs and alternated between hitting the ground and knocking his helmet against his head. Japanese soldiers hovered around him, jeering in words Dan couldn’t understand.
“Poor man has gone mad.” Gabe hobbled away from the crowd, shaking his head and refusing to watch.
“Surprised? I can’t believe we all haven’t. These Japs. I wish I could—” Dan didn’t finish. Instead, he let the murderous thoughts fill his head.
The roar of the crowd intensified. Dan covered his ears and then watched as the man paused. Wide-eyed, he turned in a slow circle as if seeing his captors for the first time.
Dawn of a Thousand Nights Page 18
