Soldiers in Hiding (7 page)

On the day of Pearl Harbor, on that Sunday when the sailors and civilians of Hawaii were turning their heads skyward, it was Monday in Tokyo and I was on my way to the public bath. Since
the wedding the week before, I'd been living alone, though the building which housed me held hundreds of students, boys from the countryside, up to Tokyo for an education. Jimmy and Kazuko had taken the back room of her mother's house. It was a small room, but big enough for them to unfold their
futon
and lie together, big enough for them to fold into each other in my imagination and make me miserable.

The public bath was three city blocks away by Los Angeles standards, though the road that got me there was small and snakelike, winding near the rice merchant's, past a few neighborhood restaurants and bars. I was taking the walk calmly, keeping the married Kazuko out of my mind, when I noticed that the streets were more active than usual, that even some of the students from where I lived were lounging about, their uniform collars askew and their hats tipped back.

“Hey!” one of them called when he saw me. “What do you think?”

“I'm headed for the bath,” I said. “What? No school today?”

The student and two of his friends came over and stood on the street with me, their faces bright. I had rarely seen them at the dormitory, but they knew I was from America.

“He doesn't know,” the student said. “How could he not know?”

They all shook their heads. “We are at war with America!” they said. “We are all going into the army. We are finished with school forever!”

With Jimmy's wedding on my mind I hadn't thought of politics in a while. I knew there was tension between the two countries, but war was ridiculous. The United States was so much bigger, so much stronger.

“War?” I asked. “Who told you? You're joking.”

“You have been to the United States,” one of them said. “You speak English. You could be our spy.”

“Yes,” said another. “You must go to that country and tell us
what they say. There aren't many people who can speak both languages.”

The students laughed at the prospect, but then got caught up in the logistics of it and while they were working it out I slipped away.

My God, war. I'd been getting some mail from home; Uncle had written that my mother and father were having trouble on the farm, were in need of their son's help, but no one had ever mentioned war. What would happen to all of them? I had to get home. I turned off the street that led to the bath and headed for Kazuko's. I would leave tomorrow, but what would Jimmy do now that he was married? There were so many unanswered questions. War was something we had with the Germans, not with the Japanese. War was to be fought against a country's enemies, not against its friends, and America and Japan had always been friends. Surely the students must have been mistaken. It was a tease. Something to keep me from asking why they weren't in school.

I hurried along the street and saw everyone now as hurrying too. It was no joke. I stopped at the bulletin board by the farmer's bank, then ran past it once I'd recognized the word for war once again. Now it was easy to read for it was written thickly, not in the paper's usual print, but by hand, its bold brush strokes sending chills through me, its very size making me admit that it was probably true, there was war between the United States and Japan.

My cat had been staying at Kazuko's house since the wedding. I'd told them that it was a gift but they'd said that if cats cannot be owned then they cannot be given. When I entered their garden I saw the cat standing coolly at the base of the old fig tree that they had. I could hear other voices so I knocked lightly then coughed once and Kazuko slid back the door.

“Oh, what will we do?” she said, taking my arm and pulling me inside. “Jimmy is so upset. What will we do? What will happen to all of us?”

Even during a crisis you'd think she'd know better than to stand so close. The look of her there in front of me, her naked hand holding mine. I was coming undone so I quickly said, “We're going to be spies, Jimmy and I. We're going to be double agents.”

From the living room I could hear the sound of sobs so I quieted, removing my shoes, and stood as tall as I could beside Kazuko on the tan tatami. Inside the room there were teacups everywhere, half empty and strewn about. Kazuko's mother was crying, her grandfather was remembering the Russian war with photographs placed on the tables and taped around the walls, and Ike was smiling.

When Kazuko's mother saw me she stepped into the kitchen for a clean cup. Jimmy was sitting silently in the corner.

“Tell me, Teddy,” the grandfather said, “don't you think we can win? Jimmy has just said that he does not and I'm out to prove him wrong.”

I took the tea and sat on a
zabuton
near the central table. “America is one hundred times bigger than Japan,” I told him, “one hundred times as strong.”

“But we've beaten America already. Admiral Yamamoto is not young but he is smart. He went to Harvard College and knows the American mind better than the two of you. Admiral Yamamoto says we can win.”

The old man began pushing photos of the Russian war into my hands. In one there was a slight young man, standing sober-looking against the side of a captured wagon. “That's me,” he said. “I fought in that war. We were stationed in Korea. We won against all odds that time too.”

The old man kept talking, but his gaze returned to the pictures, so I took the opportunity to speak to Jimmy.

“What do you think, my man?” I asked. “We're in for it now, wouldn't you say?” I tried to grin, tried to stay cheerful, for Kazuko was still near me, her hand still inches from my own.

Jimmy looked at me and then past me at his wife. The calico cat had come in and was walking figure-eights around the
grandfather's legs. I spoke again, a little more urgently, this time whispering. “What will we do?” I poked Jimmy hard on the shoulder and he sighed as if deflated.

“We're stuck, that's all,” he said. “Especially me. Most of the official Americans are gone already. There is nothing we can do.”

Ike was next to us, smiling enigmatically, still cheerful and calm. “Don't take it so hard,” he said. “They'll issue us fine clothes and train us in karate. When we get out we'll be able to defend ourselves. No more worries about
yakuza
in the park.”

Kazuko's grandfather, sensing his loss of control, came over to us and dropped another bundle of photographs in our laps. “Ike's right,” he said. “War is terrible but it is romantic. When you boys get your uniforms you'll feel better than you do now. You'll see. You'll walk tall, step crisply. There is no greater honor than to die in battle for your country.”

“Christ,” said Jimmy.

“Most of my comrades died in the war,” the grandfather assured us. “Those of us who survived have had to live with that knowledge. It is much better to die than to have to explain why you are still alive.”

Jimmy and I kept quiet while the old man talked, and, oddly, the others in the room seemed to calm under his words. Ike nodded like a confidant. Kazuko still sat next to me, but the tension in her body was going, a patriotic persuasion taking her. Finally she said, “That's what you'll have to do. Enlist. You are Japanese before you are Americans. Enlist and fight!”

“We're musicians!” I said, sitting up straight and raising my voice. “We came here to play music. How about it, Ike? You're our manager. You should be helping us get back home.”

Ike seemed worried by my tone. “Manager maybe,” he said, “but not magician. What can I do?”

I guess I had been shouting, for Kazuko looked at me oddly then slid across the tatami toward Jimmy. She took his arm. “You can't go back,” she told him. “You are my husband. You are Japanese and must do your duty.”

Even in the heat of the moment I felt the sting of her movement away from me. They had only been married a week. Not enough time for me to mend. Kazuko was breaking my heart but I sighed and said what I had to say. “We may look Japanese but we're Americans! We speak English! This is too much to ask of anyone. There is a war starting!”

Everyone in the room, even the grandfather, stopped what they were doing and looked at me. The morning newspaper was face-up on the floor, the characters for war still spilling across its front. Kazuko's mother went to the garden and looked about to see if any of the neighbors had heard me, but the street was empty. “Watch your tongue, Teddy,” she said, coming back. “We mustn't say things we do not mean. We will be misunderstood.”

The grandfather's face was quizzical. He alternately peered at me and threw his eyes toward the ceiling in a gesture of futility.

“All right,” I said. “I'm sorry. This is Japan, but I'm not bloody well enlisting.”

“Quiet, Teddy,” said Ike, and Kazuko put her fingers to her lips, her other hand gently upon my forearm. “Shh,” she said. “Silence is what is called for now. It is time for us to show our strength.”

Jimmy just sat there, not adding his voice to mine, a model for Kazuko's admiration. I think he knew if he said anything he'd give himself away, for all of us were looking at him. They all thought him so strong, but I suspected that the prospect of violent war had wrenched the voice from his throat.

“Say something, Jimmy,” I said. “Will you enlist? Will you bear arms against the Americans?”

When I spoke to him this time I spoke in English so the others kept quiet. But when Jimmy finally answered it was in Japanese again.

“I think I will enlist,” he said. “It is the only thing to do.”

While Jimmy had been quiet the reality of the war seemed to wait at the edges of the room, but when he broke his silence it all came in on us. The grandfather dug into his box of war relics
and, pulling out an old battle flag, draped it across Jimmy's shoulders, the red rays of the flag falling down his arms. The patriotism shared by Kazuko and her mother and grandfather immediately centered on the flag, on the strength that came from that streaming sun. Even Ike seemed to bask in its warmth.

“You're all nuts,” I said, but the fight had gone out of my voice.

“Most young men our age are gone already,” Ike said softly, his eyes still fixed on the flag. “I'm still here because I'm helping to organize the ward.” He shook himself loose a little and said, “Don't worry, it will be great. I think I can guarantee that we'll all stay together.”

While Jimmy was statued in the center of the room and Ike was still talking, while that battle flag still streamed from my friend so electrically, there was nothing I could do. I still hoped, though, that if I got him alone we could think of some way to get home. I walked out of the room and into the garden, the little cat following me. “Well,” I said to it, “you'll be safe. All of the
shamisen
makers will be at war.” But it would not look at me. Over the past months I had taken to running my fingers along the edges of my knife wound whenever I saw the cat. Until now it had been a point of some pride with me, a wound taken voluntarily and for love.

“All right,” said Jimmy, standing beside me, the flag finally gone, “what would you have me do?” He spoke English, but softly. Since we were outside we wanted to keep our eyes open for the neighbors.

“Christ, Jimmy!” I said. “This is no joke. We're in Japan and Japan is at war with our country! What will we do? How will we get out of here?”

He smiled that distant smile of his. “Resign yourself to it,” he said. “I've been up all morning thinking about it and there is nothing we can do. It is better to come to that realization now than later. I'm talking about staying alive, Teddy. If anyone thinks our ambition is to join the Americans we'll be killed.”

“Jimmy,” I said, “ we've got to get home.”

“ Don't be optimistic,” he said. “Be careful. Don't mess it up.”

The cat crawled halfway up the fig tree and meowed, waiting for me to rescue it. Jimmy was looking straight at me, his hands somehow strong again at his sides. He picked up the cat and handed it to me. “Enlist,” he said. “Come with me and enlist today. Don't mention America. With luck we might make the military band. With luck you might grow old in Los Angeles, Teddy, just as you' ve always hoped you would.”

The grandfather came and motioned us in for tea and rice cakes, the beginning ritual for our long days ahead. Kazuko was wearing a more beautiful and formal kimono, and her mother had turned the flowers in the tokonoma in fresh directions. Only Ike, still playful, had maintained himself. He had slipped into his grandfather's old uniform and was turning about the room like a fashion model.

When Jimmy stepped inside, the cat leaped from my arms and followed him, leaving me alone in the garden once more. I could see the Japanese battle flag, vaguely, through the open doors. The grandfather was holding it up, trying to make it flutter in the breezeless room.

 

During the next days things happened fast. Kazuko calmed, finally, to my initial fears, and the rest of the family accepted me again. The newspapers and radios told people what to do, where men should report, and which factories were in need of female laborers. The community was mobilized. Kazuko and her mother began working making uniforms. Ike was gone from the house most of the time, coming in and out like a man with a purpose. He seemed to have warmed to his new role, making the change from band manager to military man with ease. Then one night he came back with ward instructions. “Of course all the club dates are canceled” was all he ever said about the band.

The athletic field next to the local middle school was to be used for induction ceremonies, and Ike, now clearly in charge,
said he'd get us proper clothes, tell us the times, bring us first news of any battles that might have started, of Japanese victories at sea.