Caged Eagles (28 page)

“I don't know.”

“It's like your father's trucks, the ones they made him put here in the park. It must bother him that they're going to take them away from him.”

“He's angry. Very angry. I think it bothers him more about the trucks than about losing our house or even us having to live here,” Sam said.

“I understand that.”

“You do?” Sam questioned.

I nodded my head. “The trucks aren't just what he owns. They're what he
does
. Just like the boat for my father. He's a fisherman; that's not just what he does, but who he is. Understand?”

Sam scrunched up his face and scratched his head.

“Not really,” he admitted. “What time do you have?”

I looked at my watch. “Twenty after three.”

“I've got twenty-two minutes after three,” he said, showing me his watch.

“Why did you ask me if you're wearing a watch?” I questioned.

“I didn't really want to know what time it is. I just wanted to know that our watches were pretty much in agreement as to the time. I'll meet you and your father at the hole in the fence at eleven. The truck will be there.”

It felt good to be out in the cool night air. It also felt good to be away from the stall. I'd had even more trouble than usual sleeping there the last few nights. I was so used to having my grandmother just a few short feet away. A few times I'd woken up in the middle of the night and listened for her breathing and looked for her sleeping shape, not remembering for a few seconds that she was gone … gone.

We'd all be gone soon enough. This was our last night in the stall, in the park, and while I was grateful for that, there were still so many questions that couldn't be answered until we got there. My worst thought was how each step of the way, from our house to the boat to this park, things kept getting worse. Then again, how much worse could they get than living in a cattle stall?

I hadn't said much to my mother about why I had to leave. I simply told her I had to meet my father. That was the truth. Both he and I figured it was better if she didn't know. There was no sense in worrying her.

As well, I guess we figured she wouldn't understand.

I had to admit that there were more times than not, when I was bouncing this plan around in my brain, that I didn't really think I understood. If the government was going to buy the boat, like the rumors said, wouldn't it be better to just take the money?

I arrived at the place where my father and I had agreed to meet. I'd have to lead him to the spot where we'd go under the fence. There was no sign of him.

That wasn't like him to be late — and we really couldn't afford to be late. Sam had been insistent that the truck would be there at exactly eleven and that he couldn't guarantee it would wait more than a minute or two.

I understood. While there weren't any more soldiers guarding us now, they were guarding us differently — many more around the outside of the park, along the fence, and not so many on patrol inside. The newspapers had been filled with scare stories about what would happen if all of us Japanese escaped Hastings Park, so they'd put more guards on the fences. That meant that whoever was driving the truck couldn't wait too long or he'd be spotted. Sam had said he didn't think we could get there by ourselves, but not to worry because there'd be a driver. I wondered if it was somebody Japanese who was still living in Vancouver.

What was keeping my father? I knew he couldn't have forgotten or lost track of the time. Maybe he'd had second thoughts and decided that the whole idea was just too crazy or dangerous … but he would have got word to me. He wouldn't just leave me standing out here waiting if he wasn't coming.

There was a third possibility; maybe he'd been caught outside his building by one of the guards. It was true that most of the sentries were on the perimeter of the park, but some still circulated through the — I stopped at the sound of footsteps. Maybe it was him … or maybe it wasn't.

I took another step backwards so I was farther off the path. I could still peer out but I was even less visible, buried in the shadows and shielded by the branches of the bushes.

The footsteps were getting louder. It had to be him. Carefully, still completely hidden, I looked out.

I could see the outline of somebody coming up the — my heart jumped into my throat when I caught sight of a second darkened outline, and then a third and a fourth!

It was a whole patrol coming!

I shifted even farther back into deeper cover and then cringed as a tiny twig snapped underfoot. They couldn't have heard that … or could they? I couldn't hear footsteps anymore. Had they stopped right beside my hiding spot?

Then there was a whistle … it sounded like my father's whistle. Was he coming from a different direction and hadn't seen those men on the path? Another whistle … this time I was sure it was from the path.

Had those figures passed?

“Tadashi!” I heard my father call out in a loud raspy whisper.

I stumbled out of the bushes, tripping, and — I stopped, stunned. It was my father, along with Mr.

Yamamoto, Mr. Hirano and Mr. Nakayama, three men from our village.

“What are they doing here?” I mumbled.

“We hope you do not take offence,” Mr. Yamamoto said, bowing slightly.

“No … not offense … I just don't understand what you're all doing here.”

“They are accompanying us,” my father answered.

“If you do not object,” Mr. Yamamoto added.

“No, of course not! But why would you all want to come with us to … um … come with us?” I didn't even want to say the words “to sink my father's boat.”

It wasn't that I didn't think he'd told them, but I just couldn't bring myself to say it.

“We wish to do the same as your father,” Mr. Hirano said.

“You mean you want to … to …”

“Scuttle our vessels,” Mr. Nakayama said.

“Send them to the bottom,” Mr. Yamamoto agreed, while both my father and Mr. Hirano nodded solemnly.

“When your father told us of your plan we asked his permission to take part,” Mr. Yamamoto said. “You look surprised.”

“I guess I am. I didn't expect my father to even agree with it, let alone others.”

“There were many others. Dozens and dozens wished to do the same.”

“You're kidding!”

“Kidding?” Mr. Hirano asked. “What is kidding?”

“Nothing. I just mean I didn't expect that.”

“Your father said there would not be room for more than a few. There is room?” Mr. Yamamoto asked.

“Sure, Sam said it was a big truck so there's no —”

I stopped and looked at my watch. It was less then ten minutes to eleven. “We have to hurry or we'll miss the truck!”

I turned and started to run to the fence. The four men hurried to keep up to me. They were making a tremendous racket, their feet slapping against the path as we ran. If there were any guards around, they couldn't help but hear. Turning off the path, I was relieved at how the grass softened their steps.

I could tell by the breathing of the men behind me that they were struggling to keep up, but nobody would ever say anything. I stopped just before the fence, taking refuge in a clump of small trees and bushes, the only cover close to the perimeter. The men stopped beside me. I took a few more tentative steps and then, still hidden, peered out in both directions.

I'd never been here at night and was amazed at just how bright it was. The light from the street lamps didn't just illuminate the road, but haloed in the park. The entire fenceline was bathed in light. I could clearly see along the section of fence. I looked around for Sam. He was nowhere to be seen. Luckily there were no sentries either. Of course, if a guard did turn the corner, he'd be able to easily spot us as we moved along the fence.

I looked beyond the fence. There was also no waiting truck. Actually, there were no vehicles visible except for a set of headlights, approaching but still far away. A second set of lights appeared behind the first.

I quickly retreated to the safety of the bushes. My father and the other three men were all squatting down, resting, not talking, waiting.

“I didn't see the truck.” It was now a couple of minutes after eleven, and I hoped it hadn't come and gone already. “When we go under the fence —”

I stopped as the sweep of headlights cut through the bushes, bathing us in a swath of bright light for a split second before the car raced off. I readied myself for the passing of the second car. I could hear the engine, louder and rougher running than the first, but where were the lights? Instead came the high-pitched whine of brakes. Was that the truck?

“Stay here … I'll look,” I ordered as I got up. I was struck by the fact that not only was I giving orders to these men, but that they listening.

I looked out. There was a truck parked in the curb lane, its lights off. It was parked just down the way — right by the hole under the fence. It had to be Sam … didn't it?

I stepped out from the cover and felt exposed. I had to fight the urge to jump back into the trees.

“Hurry up!” Sam hissed. He was pressed flat against the outside of the fence. I hadn't expected him to be on the other side of the fence already.

I let out a whistle — the same tone my father always used — and then ran toward Sam.

“Where's your —” Sam stopped. “Geez, who are those other men?” he demanded.

Instead of answering, I dropped to the ground and quickly pulled myself under the fence. Somehow I thought it was better to give him an answer once I was on his side of the fence.

“They're from our village. They're coming.”

“To sink their boats?” Sam asked in disbelief.

“That's what they want to do. Can they come along … do you mind?”

“One, four, ten … we're in the same amount of trouble no matter the number of people. Let's just get going. Fast!”

I turned around. Mr. Hirano, Mr. Yamamoto and my father were on our side of the fence, while Mr.

Nakayama was wiggling his way underneath.

“Tell them to get into the back of the truck!” Sam ordered. “You come up in the front with me!”

I would have liked to have had my father sit up front too, but I knew there wouldn't be enough space for him as well as me, Sam and the driver.

“And tell them to hurry!” Sam called out. “There are cars coming!”

I looked past the four men and down the road.

There were three sets of lights, still in the distance but coming fast. Any one of them could be a police car or military truck. But even if it wasn't, whoever it was could very well report us.

“Hurry,” I screamed. “Into the back!”

The four men scrambled to the truck. The vehicles were coming fast but couldn't possibly close the gap before the men got into the truck. The truck engine sprang to life as I offered a hand to Mr. Hirano, who hoisted himself into the back of the truck. Mr.

Yamamoto practically leaped into the back. My father and Mr. Nakayama followed close behind.

“Come on!” I heard Sam scream.

I rounded the side of the truck as the first headlights reached us. I grabbed the door, flung it open and climbed up into the truck. I hadn't even managed to pull the door completely closed when I was thrown against the back of the seat as the truck lurched forward.

“That took too long,” Sam said.

I looked over. It was only me and Sam, and he was at the wheel of the truck.

“Where's the driver?” I demanded.

“I'm the driver.”

“But you can't drive!”

“Of course I can drive,” he said as the gears ground together noisily and the truck jerked and rocked before gaining speed.

“It sure doesn't feel like it.”

“You want to take over?” Sam asked, taking both hands off the wheel.

“No!”

“Then button it,” he said as he grabbed the wheel again.

“I'm sorry. It's just that I was expecting somebody else to drive.”

“Like who?”

“I don't know … maybe the person who usually drives the truck.”

“He would of done it if I asked him, but I couldn't do it.”

“Why not?”

“He's white. Can you imagine what would have happened if he got caught?”

“What could they do to him that they haven't done to us?” I questioned.

“Maybe put him in jail,” Sam said quietly. “I wasn't going to take a chance on taking anybody else away from their family.”

“You're right. That wouldn't be fair.”

“Besides, I'm not that bad a driver, am I?” Sam asked.

He did seem to be doing okay. We were staying on the road, straight and even and at about the right speed.

“I drive all the time.”

“Your father lets you?” I asked.

“Sure,” Sam answered. He stared straight ahead out the windshield like suddenly the road was interesting.

I knew Sam well enough to know that a short answer like that meant he was either lying or, more likely, only giving me part of the truth. For somebody who was so good at talking he wasn't very good at lying — at least

with me.

“So your father is okay with you driving the truck … on the road … at night?”

“Car or truck, day or night, road or on a farm lane, it's all the same.”

“So you're saying?”

“He wouldn't be happy about me driving. Then again, he wouldn't be that happy about us using the truck.”

“You mean he said no.”

“No, he didn't say that.”

“Did he say anything?” I questioned.

“Good night … see you in the morning … something like that.”

“As in, you didn't ask him, right?”

“Something like that. But it's better that he doesn't know.”