Toward Night's End (31 page)

Matthew saw his mother approaching and put his sister on the ground. Kumiko shook her head, a thousand questions going through her mind.

“Mama,” Matthew said, his voice caught with emotion. He gave his mother a bear hug. She thought it was the best, most cherished hug anyone had ever experienced. “I’m so sorry, Mama. I’m so sorry,” he whispered.

She pulled back to look him up and down. Then she looked him in the eye. “You’re here.” She took a step back and lightly touched him on the sleeve. He wore a dark blue jumper with a white braid trim and a black silk neckerchief tied below the neck. “Navy, yes?”

“Yes, Mama,” Matthew replied. He glanced at Merrick who gave him an encouraging nod. Daniel left Ido and gave his brother a hug, and there was much back-slapping and laughing.

“You’re wearing Navy clothes?” Daniel asked with astonishment.

“I am,” Matthew replied with another laugh. “And you’re wearing your lunch.” He took his finger and wiped the mustard. He showed it to Daniel, then tried to wipe it on his brother’s face, but Daniel ducked. Matthew grabbed him and rubbed the mustard on his cheek, laughing.

Matthew then saw Ido come forward, his hands out, feeling for something. Matthew took a step forward to meet his grandfather’s searching hands. “Hello, Ojichan.”

Ido felt Matthew’s face, and Matthew remained perfectly still as his grandfather gently examined his face with his fingers. The entire mess hall was silent. Watching. Satisfied that the man standing in front of him was indeed his grandson, he hugged him. “I’m sorry for everything, Ojichan,” Matthew whispered. “I’m so sorry.”

“Sorry? Sorry you are Navy?” Ido scolded him in a hushed voice. “Never be sorry. You honor us. You honor the Kobata name.”

“Mrs. Kobata,” a loud voice said.

Kumiko took her eyes off her son and saw that the police detective had come in. She had not even noticed. He stood next to the Navy commander.

“Mrs. Kobata, I would like to apologize to your family over the confusion of Matthew’s absence the last few weeks.”

“It is inexcusable,” Commander Merrick said, also speaking with a loud voice. When he and Johnstone had first met Matthew at the Los Angeles area jail, Matthew made them promise to a deal – for his cooperation with them, Matthew would get to see his family one last time. That time was now. However, what Matthew did not know was that Merrick and Johnstone had secretly agreed that they needed to set the record straight in as large a public setting as possible. The filled mess hall fit the bill perfectly. And of course, it was also only fitting that everyone see Matthew wearing the Navy uniform he so richly deserved to wear. “Your son had been asked by the U.S. Navy to take his fishing boat down the coast, assisting them in a top-secret operation. The operation was a success, but we still can’t reveal the details, nor can Matthew speak of it, so please don’t ask.

“Because of the top-secret nature of his assistance, the Army, Navy, and the detective here, presumed your son was missing, and perhaps working against this country.” He saw Matthew’s mother start to cry again and continued, “But as I said, he was serving his country. You can be proud of your son’s service, and I assure you your country is proud to have him in the Navy, ma’am.” He then turned to Matthew. “You have 24 hours, Seaman. Then we have to go.”

“Yes, sir,” Matthew replied. “Thank you, sir.”

With that, Commander Merrick and Johnstone exited the mess hall.

***

“Oh, no, not again.”

Johnstone laughed as Betty tried to strike another match. But the gusts of wind that had picked up after sunset, did not make it easy. He stood and leaned across the picnic table, cupping his hands around her hands. Betty struck the match and together, his hands protecting hers, they got the candle re-lit. Fortunately, the wide candle was encased in a thick glass jar, so there was little concern that it could fall over in the wind and start a fire.

She looked at him in the candlelight and laughed. “Kind of a silly idea I had.”

“No, I love it,” Johnstone immediately told her. The candle provided the only light by which to see, since the majority of the lights from the nearby administration office were no longer on at this hour. While they could have eaten their supper in the mess hall, this was far better since they were completely alone at the picnic table reserved for Army personnel. In an odd way, it was romantic. Or as romantic as possible, considering where they were.

“It’s not the way I pictured it,” Betty admitted, a bit chagrined.

“It’s great.”

After he found her in the hospital that afternoon, she had promised they would have dinner together and she’d have a surprise. Well, the food was still camp food. But the ambience was wonderful.

Another gust of wind and she put both hands over the glass case. “Stop, wind. Stop.”

Johnstone couldn’t help but smile. “Does that work?”

“What?”

“Telling Mother Nature what to do?” She smiled and gave a shrug. “Because when you come back, I’ll have you stop the rain when we’ve had enough.” He saw her smile, her auburn hair caught in the flickering firelight. Suddenly serious, he asked, “How long, do you think?”

“Until what?” she asked, puzzled.

“Until you’re done here.” He was amazed at how forward he was, but he couldn’t help it.

Another smile. “Ten months, two days.”

Johnstone grinned. “Too bad you’re so unsure.”

“Well, don’t get me wrong. I’m happy for the opportunity here, and I’m learning a lot.” She turned her attention to the candle, but there was no wind at the moment.

“But?” he prompted her.

She looked at him. “I miss things. City things. Simple things. Like going to the grocery store.” She shrugged. “Sometimes I feel like we’re imprisoned too.” Just then another blast of wind. She quickly covered the candle. “Stop! I’m tired of this. Just stop.” With that, the tempest was over.

Johnstone laughed. “Impressive.”

She smiled, but then a serious look crossed her face. “Well, I’ll tell you something right now.”

“What’s that?”

“You said when you’ve had enough, you’ll ask me to stop the rain. But I’m not going to do that.” She gestured with a hand. “This is dust, dust, and more dust. I’d love some rain. And I’ll never, ever complain about the rain again. So even if I could stop the rain, I wouldn’t do it.”

Johnstone frowned. “What if I forgot my umbrella? And I asked you to take the clouds away, and not let it rain?”

She studied him for a moment, squinting in the candlelight. “Well, then I would bet that the next day, you would remember to have your umbrella with you.”

He tilted his head back and laughed heartily.

“When you get home, do me a favor,” Betty said.

“What?” he asked, still smiling, loving every moment with her.

“If it rains and you don’t have your umbrella, just stand there.”

“Stand there?”

She nodded. “Stand there…” She put her head back, looking up to the night sky. “And tilt your head back and let it rain.” She looked at him again. “Okay? And think of me.”

Suddenly serious, he nodded. “I’ll do that…I’ll do that.”

April 8, 1942

Dear Mr. Porter,

As you must know, I never got on the ferry with my family on March 30th. On that day, I was also unable to return your truck to you, and I can only hope that it has been returned by now. I write the following with a heavy heart and the hope that you will forgive me for not returning your truck as promised, and that you will help right a most terrible wrong.

It all started last January. As you may recall, I had been using your truck to transport my catch from the island to various markets in Seattle since the previous November. Although, truthfully, I never enjoyed my occupation, it provided a fair income, and I attempted to undertake my duties with due diligence. However, last November my life greatly changed when I met a fellow Japanese-American named Sean Kanagawa. He and his family own a wonderful restaurant called Ueno’s. I stopped there one afternoon for a meal, and that’s when I met Sean. When he learned what my business entailed and that I had use of your truck several times a week, he begged me to help him. I will never regret giving him my assistance. However, all our plans did not work as we’d hoped.

Sean took me into his confidence, telling me that there was a group of Japanese, and even Japanese-Americans, living in the Seattle area that planned to assist Japan in the event that country was able to strike out against the United States. As I’m sure you know, the United States had long been Japan’s primary supplier of natural resources, which President Roosevelt cut off in order to force Japan to cease hostilities toward China. When the President did this, it angered not only the people of Japan, but many Japanese-Americans in the United States as well.

Sean and his younger brother George were blackmailed into helping Japanese Imperialists in this country. It started because they had a substantial loan with a large Japanese-American bank in Seattle. They made some poor business decisions, and soon they owed more than they could repay. The bank then explained that they would be debt free if they simply agreed to launder funds from a gambling house called Bog Adams, as well as funds sent directly from the Japanese government. They didn’t like it, but felt they had no choice. Sean told me they went along, acting as if they agreed with the politics of the bank, and even joined in secret meetings and such, in the hope that they could then tell authorities about any plan formulated against the United States before that plan could be implemented.

Some time later, Sean and George were told that to prove their allegiance to the group, they would have to have a tattoo engraved on their left ankle. This tattoo was some sort of mixture of old Samurai symbols, and when I later joined the group, I too had the tattoo engraved on my left ankle.

I was brought into the group simply because I had access to your cargo truck. Sean and George had learned that the group was planning on smuggling anti-aircraft gun parts to some remote area where they could be refitted and used to take down U.S. aircraft during a Japanese invasion. When the group leaders learned that I lived on the island, they decided this would be the best place to set up the anti-aircraft weapons. By the way, while I met with these leaders, I never actually saw their faces because I was always put in a dark hood. I wish I could tell you their names, but I cannot. I imagine they are in some internment camp, perhaps among my own family, but I do not know.

Once these leaders met me, it soon became my job to unload my catch in Seattle, then meet up with a U.S. Navy petty officer named Cody Carsteen. He would help me load heavy material into your truck. I tried to keep track of the parts I transported, so later at home, I would draw an exact likeness to what I had seen. Most of these drawings I have since burned, but that notebook is in my bedroom desk, the bottom drawer.

As for Carsteen, yes, he was a white man and pro-Imperialist Japan because he had lived there for many years as a young boy with his parents, who were Christian missionaries. He became very sympathetic to the resource needs of his adopted homeland. The U.S. Navy knew he was fluent in Japanese, and they employed him to spy on the Japanese-Americans, looking for militant Imperialist Japanese. He thought this duplicity was great fun, because not only would he never turn in anyone who was pro-Japan, this assignment afforded him freedom of movement and independence not available to other Navy personnel.

Once I had the material from Carsteen loaded in your truck, I was then to take it to Cannery Cove Park where men were always waiting. They would unload the material.

It was when I went to Seattle for one of my regular runs for gun parts that I learned that Sean had had part of his left pinky finger cut off with one of his own kitchen knives. He told me that before our impending internment in a camp somewhere, he wanted in writing from the bank that their debt was paid in full and the Kanagawa family owned the restaurant free and clear. He actually went to the bank to talk to the bank’s president, but he never got an audience with the man. Soon after, some men came to the restaurant one morning to ‘teach him a lesson.’ These two men were white, which surprised Sean, and me too.

Sean later explained to me that Carsteen had met a worse fate – all four fingertips on his left hand had been cut off. Sean said Carsteen had tried to pull a fast one on the people at Bog Adams. They let him know that he had made a mistake.

Several weeks ago, I tried to extricate myself from this treasonous scheme by saying that you needed your truck back. But Petty Officer Carsteen threatened my family, should I stop making the deliveries. And so I felt I had to tell someone what was going on. I chose to confide in my best friend, Tom Bollgen. I will always regret, to my dying day, involving Tom. No doubt, he would be alive today had I not asked for his assistance

Our plan, as agreed to with Sean and George, was to wait until we knew when the Japanese planned to strike. Then we would tell the authorities who could then bring it to a halt. We knew that the large truck chassis, upon which the guns would be mounted, was already in place, so we suspected the time was approaching.

On the night of March 29th, the night before our evacuation, I tried to learn where the anti-aircraft parts were being assembled. I guess because Carsteen knew I would soon be put in a camp, he admitted that a farmer on the island had been purposely baited into gambling at an establishment called Bog Adams. It turns out the farmer was Old Man Pete. Since this gambling house was owned by the Japanese bank, when Old Man Pete got into deep debt, the men who run Bog Adams simply took over his farm as payment.

However, they knew that it might look suspicious if they took over the property, so they let him stay on and work his land as usual. But when the time was right, they planned to set up the anti-aircraft guns on his property and assist the Japanese during the air raid on Seattle. That air raid, I later learned, would take out not only the Navy ships along the seaboard, but crush the Boeing aircraft manufacturing plant where we are building our B-17 aircraft for the war.