The Kizuna Coast: A Rei Shimura Mystery (Rei Shimura Mysteries Book 11) (9 page)

I
didn’t dare look at any more cars with soldiers nearby as the bus slogged onward. The mud lessened as we moved upland, and a road finally emerged from the dirt. We traveled on it another mile, until the driver stopped at a cluster of stucco buildings. Mud and seawater had painted them a horrid, greenish-brown shade from ground level up to about three feet. Mr. Yano turned around to announce this was the volunteer headquarters and tsunami survivors’ shelter. Then he thanked the driver for his service.

Everyone politely applauded the driver, but there was no hurry to get off the bus. When the narrow door opened, a sickening, fishy odor flowed in, and people slapped on the gauze facial masks typically worn when having a cold or hay fever. I hadn’t thought to pack such a mask, and it was no surprise that Akira also was maskless. But as I stood in the bus’s center aisle, trying hard not to inhale, Mrs. Endo dug into her purse and handed a new, plastic-wrapped mask to each of us.

“I always carry extras,
neh
?”

Once I’d thanked her and slipped the softness over my nose and mouth, I debated whether there was any lessening of the evil smell. It didn’t seem like much.

Mr. Yano’s voice was muffled as he spoke through his own gauze mask into the microphone, introducing the town’s mayor, a fellow who’d come out of the dingy compound to greet us.

Mayor Kazuo Hamasaki was dressed for work in a hard hat, reflective vest, and rubber boots, with a respirator hanging around his neck. He welcomed us, explaining that the volunteers’ sleeping dormitory would be up on the second floor of the school district headquarters building. The staircase was still too damaged to use, so we would all use a fire ladder set up on the western side of the building.

“Can your dog climb a ladder?” a woman whispered to me, looking worriedly at Hachiko.

“I may have to camp out below with her.” But I didn’t want to. The stench made my throat close and head spin.

“Where are all the townspeople?” Yano-san inquired. It was strange that the mayor was the only one we’d seen.

“Many are outside searching for lost relatives or trying to clean mud from their homes.” Mayor Hamasaki’s serious expression grew even more sober. “If the homes are not habitable, they are staying inside the shelter here, which is normally used as Sugihama High School.”

“Have they eaten much today?” Mr. Yano asked.

“They’ve had cereal bars and water. So far, all provisions have been provided by the Japanese and American military forces.”

“As promised, we have brought fresh food and will cook hot meals.” Yano-san’s cheer sounded forced. “We have portable stoves and plenty of propane fuel.”

Nurse Tanaka came forward now and gave a little half bow. She said something in a low voice to the mayor, and I caught the words
potto
: the polite way to say “portable toilet.”

“I’m sorry,” Mayor Hamasaki answered. “The government hopes to bring some of those soon for everyone.”

Where would we relieve ourselves? Some volunteers exchanged worried glances, but there was no complaining.

I was diverted by Hachiko, who was tugging hard on the leash, interested in something a few feet away. Following her movement, I saw an eviscerated, stinking fish being picked at by a crow.

Why did Hachiko like
this
fish? I wondered, shortening my hold on Hachiko’s leash. There were so many dead fish. Then I realized: she was interested in the crow.

Hachiko saw life in the midst of all this death. She saw the opportunity to hunt.

And that was what I needed to concern myself about, too.

Akira insisted on bringing my backpack and duffel up the ladder to the second floor of the building. Returning to Hachiko and me a few minutes later, he said, “It’s not bad up there; at least all the windows are closed. I’m going to my family now. Good luck with everything.”

“Thanks. If you’re doing carpentry around town, I might see you again.” Following him out, I gave Hachiko a bowl of kibble and a very short walk.

As we returned to the volunteer shelter, I saw Nurse Tanaka waving energetically. She called, “Yano-san, the mayor and I were talking about you.”

I felt my stomach drop. Maybe they’d decided there was no way Hachiko could stay with the volunteer crew. That she needed to be confined to a holding area for random animals.

“Oh, Hachiko,” I whispered, reaching down to stroke her. How quickly she’d captivated me.

“The mayor suggested I tend to some injured tsunami survivors in Yamagawa this afternoon,” Nurse Tanaka said. “Didn’t you say your missing friend might be there?”

“Yes. Can you check?” But I desperately wanted to go with her.

“Please plan on accompanying me after lunch.”

Had she read my mind? “Thank you!”

“Before we leave, I believe you’ve been put on kitchen duty, making the hot lunch. We hope to have a meal prepared for two hundred people in less than three hours, so this will mean working quickly.”

Unlike our volunteer headquarters, the high school that had become the survivors’ shelter was in an area just elevated enough not to have flooded. Therefore, the first floor gymnasium had become a sleeping zone, and the school kitchen, although devoid of electricity, was still a big, decent workspace. I tied Hachiko’s leash to the railing of the kitchen door, suggesting to her that she settle down in an empty cardboard box that had held potatoes. Fortunately, she liked its smell.

The school’s kitchen was a medium-sized room with a dead refrigerator and no working lights. It was so cold, though, that a refrigerator was hardly needed. Nobuko-san, a round-faced woman in her early thirties, was designated as the head cook, based on her real profession in Yokohama. She asked me to pull groceries from the seven boxes of food supplies brought up on the bus. The potatoes were already being peeled by Yuki and Reiko, the dog-loving students I’d met on the bus, so I got to work chopping yams and then chopping onions. The rest of the stew’s flavor would come from miso and the dried seagreen called
kombu
. By the time Yuki and Reiko had properly recounted the various problems with their parents, boyfriends, and professors, twenty pounds of vegetables were simmering in five giant tureens that bubbled energetically atop propane camp stoves. A teakettle also was on. Miss Nobuko explained we could offer green tea and serve it with packaged crackers while the stew was cooking.

“They need warmth—and tea will fill their bellies a bit as they wait for lunch,” she told us.

I was dispatched to spread the news of a coming meal among the families staying at the school. It was a short walk uphill to the school. Inside, the families had staked out spaces inches from each other, defined only by dark green military blankets and borders made from pieces of cardboard boxes. People looked exhausted and somehow very small, like they’d shrunken to fit their miserable little pens.

But my offer of tea was welcome and quickly repeated from one boxed space to another. As if following the directions of an unseen teacher, the tsunami survivors fit themselves into a line and proceeded quietly behind me to the auditorium, where Yuki and Reiko served hot tea that was replaced an hour later by stew. I carefully served one cup of stew per person into cardboard bowls. Everyone gave profuse thanks.

About half the stew we’d cooked was left after the first round, but before I could offer anyone seconds, Nobuko-san told me to take away the partially filled tureens. Seeing my dismay she explained, “We will each have one bowl for our own lunch, and the remainder will be brought to feed people at the injured persons’ shelter.”

I’d been so busy with cooking and serving that I’d almost forgotten the afternoon plan. But instead of feeling eager, I was strangely anxious. I might find Mr. Ishida seriously or irreversibly injured. Our reunion could be the start of a long period of caretaking. There was also a strong chance he wasn’t still at this shelter, but at a hospital or somewhere else.

After finishing every drop of the savory stew, I threw away the paper bowl and went behind the kitchen to see how Hachiko was doing. She’d fallen asleep in the box, shivering despite her coat.

As I petted her, a couple of dark green jeeps pulled up with two American soldiers in each. Encouraging Hachiko to come along with me, I went to greet two uniformed Americans in the first jeep. Pulling down my face mask, I said, “Hi. Are you our ride to Yamagawa?”

The soldier in the driver’s seat took off his respirator to answer me. “You bet,” he said, revealing a face so young it still was dusted with acne. “We heard a couple of folks were going over to work with us this afternoon.”

His companion climbed out of the jeep’s other side and put out his hand for me to shake. “I’m Sergeant Simonson. Private McDonald’s my driver. Are you American? We didn’t know any civilian nurses were here.”

“Actually, Nurse Tanaka is Japanese and comes from a hospital in Tokyo. I’ll have to find her,” I said. “I’m just coming along to help with serving a hot lunch.” I gave him my name and said I’d flown over from Hawaii.

“Hawaii!” Sgt. Simonson looked pleased. “I was posted at Schofield Barracks last year. Are you also a canine handler? What kinda mutt you got there?”

“Hachiko’s part beagle and part Akita—and no, I’m not a dog pro, but would you let me bring Hachiko along for the ride? I’m trying to reunite her with her owner.”

“I don’t see why she can’t come along. Is her owner also an American?”

“No, he’s an elderly gentleman from Tokyo.” As Sgt. Simonson and Private McDonald came back and forth to the shelter with me, helping bring boxes of medical supplies and food, I explained about Mr. Ishida’s call for help. As we worked, Miss Tanaka hurried out to join us, dressed in a white uniform complete with an old fashioned nurse’s cap and carrying a doctor’s bag.

“So glad you can take us,” she said. “Sergeant Simonson, I understand you are a medical corpsman who has already been to the injured shelter? I would like to hear about the general challenges of this population.”

Hachiko sat politely, but with her nose quivering, between Nurse Tanaka and me in the back of McDonald and Simonson’s jeep, while the second jeep, packed to the roof with supplies and food, followed. We reached Morito Recreation Center after a half hour’s drive, although the distance was only five miles. My heart rate quickened at the sight of the single-story brick building. This could be the end of the road for me; the place Hachiko and I would find Mr. Ishida. I swallowed hard, thinking:
Let him still be there—and well enough to return to Tokyo.

At the door, we were met by some Japanese nurses and medical corpsmen. They moved deferentially behind Dr. Nishi, a fit-looking military doctor who appeared in a flurry of quick footsteps. He bowed to us and had a pleasant expression until he saw Hachiko.

“Stop!” he said in Japanese. “That dog is not allowed inside. We must maintain a clean environment for the patients’ safety.”

“Oh. I’m sorry.” I apologized. “This dog, Hachiko, is the companion of a missing person who may be in the shelter. That’s why I brought her—”

“Perhaps, but dogs are not allowed indoors. They are very attracted to blood and wounds. One lick could bring serious infection.”

“I’ll keep her outside.” I looked around, trying to figure out where to tie her leash. “Maybe I can find her owner by myself and then reunite them outdoors—”

“Only if the patient is stable. Are you both nurses?”

At this point, I was glad that Nurse Tanaka spoke up, explaining her abilities as well as that of the medical corpsmen, who clearly hadn’t understood the Japanese doctor’s comments to me, but were looking uncomfortable. Miss Tanaka added at the end that I’d brought green tea and a hot lunch for the patients whose orders permitted a normal diet.

“But we have no stoves,” Dr. Nishi said, frowning at me. “It is thoughtful of you to try to help, but I don’t believe you’ll be able to serve anything hot.”

“These soldiers have generously brought portable stoves and propane,” I pointed out. “If it would be all right to set that up, we could feed everyone.”

“What is it that you’re cooking?”

“A miso vegetable stew.” I recited the ingredients, and as I did, I saw the military doctor rub his lips together. Maybe his disagreeability had to do with sheer hunger. I added, “Depending on the number of patients, I believe we will have leftovers for the staff.”

“Yes, Doctor, how many patients are here?” Nurse Tanaka asked. “I don’t know that information.”

“Our census was fifty-two this morning.”

I began, “The gentleman I’m looking for is Ishida. Yasushi Ishida—”

But Dr. Nishi was already motioning for Nurse Tanaka to follow him. My question either had gone unheard or wasn’t important enough.

“Please come along. I’ll translate,” Nurse Tanaka said to Sgt. Simonson and the other army medic who’d traveled in the jeep behind us.

Private McDonald and the other jeep’s driver, Private Finley, made it clear they’d help with the food service. They set up the portable stoves on some picnic tables near the shelter, while I tied Hachiko’s leash to a bicycle rack. The dog stood motionless but kept her nose aimed in the direction of the recreation building, and jerked on her leash each time someone opened the door to go inside.