War of the Eagles (7 page)

Without warning, Smitty jumped up from the table. “The mail!” he yelped. “I forgot the mail. It's all still sitting in my jeep. I'll get killed if something happens to it.” He ran for the door, still chewing his last mouth–ful of food.

“Was there a lot of mail today?” my mother ques–tioned.Smitty stopped and propped the door open with his foot.

“Yep. Lots of letters and even more parcels.”

“Parcels? What sort of parcels?”

“They're all wrapped up tight but most have blankets or coats or special treats or bread.”

“Bread? Why would anybody send bread? By the time it got here it would be all stale. They can get my fresh baked bread anytime.”

“Beats me,” he answered, although the way he looked away, it was obvious he knew more than he was saying.

My mother had a thoughtful look on her face. “I smell something here and it isn't the smell of baking bread.”

“I don't smell anything,” Smitty answered. “I must have a head cold from all the rain.”

Smitty let the door close and ran off across the pa–rade ground.

I managed to stuff in enough food to stop my stom–ach from grumbling. It's amazing how fast you can eat if you don't waste any time chewing. While my mother had her back to me I brought my plate over to the garbage can and scraped off the remaining food. Dropping the plate into the soapy sink water, I hurried away.

“I'll be back later to help,” I offered as an excuse.

There were cedars piled around the flagpole and I couldn't see the eagle. I wanted to see but had enough sense not to crowd right in. If those pills weren't work–ing, I could find the eagle a lot faster, and a lot closer, than I wanted. The branch, which had been brought for the bird to use as a perch, was still off to the side. I sat down on it. Nothing to do but wait.

Fortunately the wait wasn't too long. The vet and Ma–jor Brown came out from the mess hall. The major still carried a mug and took sips as they moved forward.

“Well, Jed, is he asleep?” Major Brown asked.

“Haven't seen him, and there aren't any sounds.”

“That's a good sign,” the vet announced. He dug into his bag again and produced a pair of heavy canvas gloves. “But, just in case, these might help.”

The vet started pulling away clumps of cedar branch–es. With each one I expected the eagle to come hurtling towards him. There was still no movement.

“Poor fella,” he said quietly, and motioned for us to come closer.

The eagle was lying on its side, eyes closed, not mov–ing. I was afraid it was dead. Then I could make out the faint movement of the chest going up and down.

He picked up the eagle and cradled it gently. It filled his arms.

“Could you go over by my bag … Jed, isn't it? … I left a small hood right there on the ground.”

I brought it over. He carefully placed it on top of the eagle's head and, using his teeth, pulled the drawstring at the bottom to secure it in place.

“He's off in dream land,” the vet said. “Now, with the hood in place, even if he does wake up, we'll still be able to control him. Could I get some help?”

“Certainly, what do you need?” Major Brown asked.

“Just somebody to hold him while I perform the examination.”

“I'll get somebody right away.”

“What about this young man? He's been here from the start.”

“Jed? Would that be all right with you?”

“Yeah … I guess so,” I replied cautiously.

The vet nodded. “Good. You aren't going to get too many chances in your life to hold an eagle. Come over here and take him in your arms.”

I stepped forward, held out my arms and braced myself to take on the weight of the bird. Carefully, he placed the eagle with its hooded head toward mine.

“It's as light as a feather!” I noted in amazement. “It must be practically starving to death.”

“No, he's not in bad shape. People are always sur–prised at how little an eagle, or any bird, really weighs. A full grown eagle weighs between ten and twelve pounds.

They have to be built light to fly. Only land birds like ostriches or sea birds like penguins are heavy.

He started running his fingers through the bird's feathers, over the length of its body, working his way from the talons up to the head. I thought it would be pretty interesting to be a vet.

“No obvious injuries … good muscle tone … no ab–scesses … hello, what do we have here?” His fingers probed the side of the head where the feathers were stained. “A small crease in the skull. No point of entry. Undoubtedly a very close shave from a bullet that just skipped off the side of the head. Major, can you come here?”

The major came over and stood directly in front of the vet. “Could you please take the wing after I stretch it out?”

He proceeded to pull the injured wing out. It ex–tended at least three feet, maybe more. This bird, which stood almost three feet from talon to beak, was probably almost seven feet from the tip of one wing to the tip of the other. The vet placed one of his hands at what I figured was sort of the bird's elbow and his second hand went to the tip. He then felt his way along the length of the limb, carefully exploring.

Holding the eagle was like having a pillow in my hands. The soft feathers lightly moved with each shal–low breath it took. I eased off my bottom hand and felt one of the talons pricking my skin.

“Well, I can't detect any obvious break,” the vet said.

“If the wing had been broken we would have had to put it to sleep.”

I felt a surge of relief flood over me. I didn't want them to kill it.

“But, why can't it fly?” I asked.

“I suspect it has a torn muscle, probably sustained in the fall after the bullet grazed its head, knocking it out of flight. As well, although it's hard to tell how much of a factor this is, it does seem to be missing a number of prime wing feathers on the injured wing, which would make flight difficult.”

“What will be the treatment?” Major Brown asked.

“We have to wait.”

“For what?”

“To see what happens. If it's just feathers and a torn muscle, then time will allow both to repair and it should be able to fly again.”

“Excellent,” Major Brown replied.

“Until then, you'll have to keep it fed, watered and safe from further injury.”

“We'll try. I have somebody in mind who might be able to take good care of it,” Major Brown said, look–ing at me. “Somebody who'll take very good care of it … right, Jed?”

.5.

“Come on, if we move fast we can stay ahead of my sis–ters,” Tadashi said as he came up to me on the path. I fell in beside him and took up his pace.

“It will be different walking through the woods with–out your sisters giggling at our heels,” I commented.

“Yeah, they can be such little pests. And it's always worse when you're around.”

“You're blaming me?”

“Not you, but Midori. It wouldn't be so bad if she hadn't taken such a shine to you.”

“A shine!”

“Yeah, she thinks you're real dreamy. Can't you tell how she's always giving you cow eyes and laughing at your jokes?”

“Everybody laughs at my jokes. I'm a funny guy.”

“Not that funny, and not everybody,” Tadashi re–sponded.

“Well, everybody except Toshio.” Toshio and an–other kid from Sikima were walking up ahead of us. Like always he was talking too loud. I'd rather walk with Tadashi's sisters then be around him. He and his family had only just moved to the village this past summer and he'd taken an instant dislike to me. His English was getting better, but even in the beginning, when he couldn't do much more than grunt, he made it pretty clear he wanted to fight me. He was two years older than me, but I was a full head taller and out–weighed him.

“Toshio might think you're funny too, but he's too busy being jealous of all the attention Midori shows you.”

“Jealous? Of me and Midori? She's just a kid. What is she, eleven years old?”

“She'll soon be twelve,” Tadashi replied as he picked up a stick from the ground.

“Eleven, twelve, big difference.”

“It is to Toshio. I think he'd like to make Midori his bride some day.”

I could see what old Toshio might be thinking. I wouldn't admit it to anybody, heck.

I hardly admitted it to myself, but I could see where he could take a shine to Midori. She had big brown eyes, soft round features and was really pretty. She also had a sense of humor. But, she was years younger. I had my eye on a couple of girls at school. Girls my age. At least now it all made sense why this guy didn't like me.

“Come on, let's speed up and I'll give Toshio my blessing. Heck, I'll even get them a wedding present.

Maybe then he'll go easy on me.”

“It's my father's blessing he'll be asking. But he probably still won't feel any different towards you,”

Tadashi said.

“What else? Is he jealous of our friendship? Tell him he can marry you too,” I joked.

“Other reasons,” he replied quietly and I knew there was more beneath his somber expression.

“What other reasons?”

“You gotta understand, Jed, these Japanese can be a little strange.”

“These Japanese? What do you mean ‘these Japa–nese?' What do you think you are, an Eskimo?”

“You know what I mean. The
Issei
.”

Issei
are the people who were born in Japan. Mostly those were just the older people, like parents and grandparents. Almost all of them were now naturalized Canadian citizens. Those born in Canada, like Tadi and most of the other kids, are the
Nisei
.

“What sort of strange ideas?” I asked.

“I don't really want to talk about it.”

“Then you shouldn't have started what you don't want to finish. Explain it to me.”

“They just don't think a Japanese should marry somebody other than another Japanese.”

“Yeah, well I think we both have it figured out I'm not planning on marrying your little sister.”

“But it's more than that. They don't think that any–body should ever … look I told you I don't want to talk about this any more.”

“Sounds like you don't know what you're talking about.”

“Yeah, I know what I'm talking about. You can't get me to tell you by giving me a hard time. I'm not stupid you know. I'm no Toshio.”

“Okay, okay,” I admitted. “Although someday you may have a bunch of half-Toshio little nieces and neph–ews running around being confused.”

Tadashi laughed. I liked to hear him laugh almost as much as he liked laughing. Tadi seemed to be almost always happy. Even when he was acting serious, I could usually catch a hint of laughter in his dark eyes. He was shorter and thinner than me, most of the Japanese were, but he was already bigger than his father. It was funny, but the kids born in this country usually became bigger than their parents, and if Toshio was any indication, bigger than those kids still being born in Japan.

“So, are you going to tell me?” I asked.

Tadashi gave a big sigh and slowly nodded his head.

“Look, Jed. I want you to understand this isn't me or my family but some of the older, real Japanese. You know, the
Issei
.”

“Okay, I get the message, go on,” I said, suddenly apprehensive.

“They figure everybody should stay in their own race.

Not just the Japanese, but everybody. Japanese should marry Japanese. Chinese should marry Chinese. Whites should marry whites …”

“And Indians should marry Indians,” I said, complet–ing his sentence.

“Yeah,” he confirmed, looking down at his shoes.

“So, they just don't understand about people like me, half white and half Indian.”

“Yeah,” he agreed, still looking down.

I'd been in lots of fights during my life over being called a “half-breed.” It seemed like there was some ya–hoo in everyplace I ever lived. Funny thing was, I didn't even think of myself as part Indian. It wasn't like I didn't know my mother was native, but I thought of myself as being like my father.

“Well, anytime Toshio wants to have a run at me, I'll be ready for him. I'm a lot bigger than he is,” I said, mo–tioning up ahead at him. “Look at the little shrimp.”

“Bigger doesn't matter if he knows judo.”

“What's that?”

“It's a form of self-defense that uses holds and throws.

Lots of schools in Japan teach it to the students.”

“I'll teach him a few things if he tries anything with me,” I said. “Like how far he can fly.” I laughed.

“It's no joking thing, Jed. Judo uses leverage and it's better to be smaller than the guy you're fighting.”

“Sounds pretty stupid to me. I always figured it was better to be bigger … a lot bigger.” I started to laugh again.

“What's so funny?” Tadashi asked.

“Some ways it's good to know that Japanese can be as stupid as anybody else.”

“Everybody's got their share of stupid. You just have to look at Toshio to know that. I gotta talk to my father, though. I can't bear the thought of half-stupid, half-Toshio nieces and nephews.”

I laughed but there was one more question I needed to ask. “What about you?”

“What about me, what?”

“You've told me how Toshio would feel and how the old Japanese would feel, but how would you feel about me marrying your sister?”

“You and my sister? No way. Not a chance.”

“Why not? You don't think I'm good enough because I'm a half-breed?”

“Well,” Tadashi shrugged, “Jed, old friend, you're a half-breed who's half right. I actually don't think one of you is good enough for the other. You can do better than my bratty little sister, that's all.”