Chapter Three

That Sunday Max and Elizabeth were having an early lunch and enjoying the view of the completed garden. The World Today was just coming on the radio and they sat in stunned silence at what they heard:

“The Japanese have attacked Pearl Harbor, Hawaii, by air, President Roosevelt has just announced. The attack also was made on all naval and military activities on the principal island of Oahu.”

Neither Max nor Elizabeth could muster a word as the announcer then told of a Japanese fleet sailing for Thailand. Soon another announcement, this one from Washington, saying in solemn tones: “A Japanese attack upon Pearl Harbor would mean war. Such an attack would bring a counter-attack, and hostilities of this kind would mean that the President would ask Congress for a declaration of war.”

“Philip,” Elizabeth finally said in a fearful whisper.

Max put his hand over hers on the table, nodding, wondering if the whole world had gone mad. His stomach felt as if a fist had grabbed it. His boy, his son—and tens of thousands of other sons—would now be in harm’s way.

They stayed by the radio, listening as reports grew more and more dire, with attacks on Manila and the Philippines. And then, after three, the New York Philharmonic was on, but neither Max nor Elizabeth were listening, waiting instead for updates.

At a little after four, Max heard a car drive up. He got up, looked out and saw Tadeo getting out of his battered old Ford. Max opened the door.

“You’ve heard the news,” Max said as Tadeo approached.

He nodded, shoulders slumped, his gait almost a shuffle. “A terrible thing,” Tadeo said as he reached the steps. “I had to come… I think of your boy, of my stupid assurances it would not come to war. Of my own grandson who is there now.”

“My god, Tadeo, that’s right. Jimmy had that charity football game in Pearl Harbor.”

“He is a survivor,” Tadeo said, nodding. “The only Asian on the team. The boy knows how to survive. But Hiro is worried sick. We all are.”

“Come in. Come in.”

Tadeo stood in the drive, tears in his eyes. “What have they done, Max? What have they done? Their stupid samurai mentality. It will be their end. I feel I must somehow apologize for them.”

Elizabeth was at the door now, too. “Don’t be absurd, Tadeo. That’s not your country. This is. And they have attacked you, too.”

“I know, my friends. I know. And that is how I feel. But there will be others who blame me, my family, the entire Japanese community. A wall will come down between the two communities. I fear that is our future.”

“There are no walls between us,” Max said, emotion gripping him. The idea of war and its destruction made him physically ill.

“I have come here to be with my friends one last time. This friendship, this bond is not safe for you, not safe for my family, either. I will always think of you as my friends, and as friends I ask that you honor this request. We must make a break for now, until things are settled. Emotions run high today. They will run higher when the first boy from here is killed by the Japanese.”

“You’re not serious,” Elizabeth said. “You can’t be.”

Tadeo nodded solemnly. “Never so serious in all my life. You may have spent summers here as a child, Elizabeth, but you do not know what is in the hearts of some of these people. How, even in the best of times, some would shout ‘Dirty Jap’ at you, would push you off the sidewalk as they passed. It is something we prepare our sons and daughters for. The bullying, the jeering, the squint-eyes they make at you. Not all, of course. But their numbers will grow now.”

“You’re my friend, Tadeo,” Max said, his heart heavy. “I won’t let you put yourself and your family in this self-imposed exile. You are an American. This is still a land of liberty and tolerance.”

Tadeo put a hand on Max’s shoulder. “Would that it were so, my friend. When it is safe, I will once again be with you. I promise you. But if you are truly my friend, you will listen to my words, my request. It is not easy for me. I will dearly miss both of you. But you must honor this request.”

He did not wait for a reply but turned and headed back to his car.

Max felt a tug of pain, as if a part of him were being torn away.

As the days passed, the reality of war sank in. Max tried to busy himself by following the news closely, as Germany and Italy declared war on the United States and the country was suddenly thrust into a life-and-death struggle on two fronts. The Japanese quickly took Hong Kong, Singapore, Malaya, Burma, and Thailand, invaded the Philippines, and were setting their eyes on Australia. Meanwhile, the Germans were threatening to conquer the Soviet Union, and German subs and warships were sinking Allied ships before American troops could even be deployed in Europe.

Defeat after defeat soon filled Max with such paralyzing dread that he retreated into studying the history of the Crusades. Elizabeth concentrated on her restoration project, and they slowly began to accept the new reality.

Max took daily walks along the coastal cliffs, cleared the pebbled Zen garden of leaves, put up storage shelves in the garage. Anything to keep his mind off the war and their son. They received a letter from Philip shortly after the attack at Pearl Harbor and he assured them he was doing just fine and “itching” to get into action.

Philip was not the “itching” sort, Max knew, and this false bravado saddened him.

Christmas came and went with little cheer.

Tadeo had been right about the coming friction between communities, Max soon discovered. The death of the first local, Lieutenant Arthur Pinkus, Jr.,— the son of the man Tadeo had once partnered with in the strawberry business—hardened the divide between whites and the Japanese community. With growing sadness, he read letters to the editor in the San Ignacio Reporter calling for a roundup of all Japanese. “A woman cannot sleep in peace knowing the enemy is on the loose all around us,” wrote Mable Watterson of San Ignacio. Others feared that the local Japanese might signal from land to the Japanese subs that had been patrolling the Pacific coast since the beginning of hostilities. Carlton Haynes, also of San Ignacio, wrote: “The Japanese amongst us are a danger to national security. They need to be removed from the coastal regions.” Max was filled with foreboding, remembering the disgraceful years of the Mexican repatriation at the outset of the Depression when more than half a million Mexicans were deported—most of them full American citizens. It could easily happen again, he knew, and this time to the Japanese in America.

Fear fueled bigotry leading to assaults on local Japanese. Karl Ishikawa, a farm worker born in California, was beaten senseless by a gang of men wielding axe handles and left in a ditch with a sign on his chest: “Go home, Jap.” Mrs. Minami, a grocer, was set upon by youths when closing her shop one night in early January. Chants of “dirty Jap” soon turned to violence, and she was thrown to the ground and kicked unconscious. All reported in the local paper with no editorializing, no censure.

These cowardly acts were not so noticeable at first in San Ignacio, Max knew, because the town had so few Japanese living there. Instead, the Japanese—including the Suzukis—lived mostly in and around the farming community of Franklinburg, ten miles south of San Ignacio.

Max was continually tempted to drive down there and visit Tadeo. But his friend’s words stayed with him; he would honor them.

The Town and Country Café became a haven for him and Elizabeth. Doris, the waitress, was a conduit of gossip, and it was from her they learned the good news that Jimmy Suzuki had safely returned from Hawaii with the rest of his teammates.

Tiny, meanwhile, was living up to her ironic name, eating enough for two dogs and growing larger by the day. Elizabeth began training her to take a lead, to come when called, to heel and to sit. But Elizabeth had no success in altering the dog’s bathroom habits: the Zen garden became Tiny’s favorite shitting destination.

Cleaning up after the dog gave Max something else to fill his days.

As January passed into February, he decided to cultivate some new friends. The local chess club was a place to start, and it was there he met Peter Sherry, Chandler County coroner as well as chief medical and forensics officer. Sherry was a jolly looking man with cheeks that looked perennially bussed by the wind, a shiny pate framed by wing-like, russet side hair, a pair of half-frame tortoise shell reading glasses lodged on his bulbous nose, and a small mouth whose thick lips curled up at the corners. He was also an accomplished chess player, county champion two years running, feared and begrudgingly respected for his audacious opening, the Budapest Gambit.

Max was no challenge for Sherry, but a shared interest in criminal justice kept the relationship cordial. Still, this felt like a stop-gap measure for Max.

Elizabeth’s brother Teddy suggested that he take up golf. He even offered to sponsor Max for membership at a nearby country club. Max politely declined, but this made him realize how desperate he must seem.

The blur of days was punctuated on February 19, 1942, when Roosevelt issued Executive Order 9066. Max read the full order in the San Francisco Chronicle the next day, and beneath the numbing bureaucratic language, he parsed the meaning: the government was treating the entire West Coast of America as a war zone from which “any and all persons” could be excluded. No mention of Japanese, but they were clearly the target. FBI agents had, following Pearl Harbor, already taken away some of the local civic leaders and Buddhist priests, but now it looked like Roosevelt was laying the groundwork for rounding up all Japanese on the West Coast. It was only a matter of time. Only a matter of one precipitating event.

Jesus Christ, he thought. We’re living in a time of madness.

Several nights later Roosevelt delivered another Fireside Chat, and Max and Elizabeth tuned in as the president tried to rally support for the war effort, to sound optimistic and resolute. Encouraged to get world maps out by the President, they, like millions of other Americans, did so, spreading theirs out on the dinner table, and they were taken on a tour of the global theaters of battle. Listening to Roosevelt, Max did feel somehow more confident about things. He was properly stirred when the President intoned:

“Those Americans who believed that we could live under the illusion of isolationism wanted the American eagle to imitate the tactics of the ostrich. Now, many of those same people, afraid that we may be sticking our necks out, want our national bird to be turned into a turtle. But we prefer to retain the eagle as it is—flying high and striking hard.”

Roosevelt was no sooner finished than a local news bulletin announced that a Japanese submarine had just shelled the Ellwood Oil Field near Santa Barbara. There was little reported damage, but Max knew now, following this attack on the American homeland by a Japanese sub, that internment was inevitable. “Any and all persons” Roosevelt’s order said. The precipitating event had come.

What would become of Tadeo and his family? Of the tens of thousands of other Japanese who were loyal Americans?

“This is terrible,” Elizabeth said, turning off the radio, unable to listen more. “Tadeo…”

“I know,” Max said. “This is what he was trying to protect us from. This insanity of American turning against American.”

Max awoke with the tightness in his chest that would never leave him now. Partly from the wound, but mostly a fist of anxiety. He felt Elizabeth’s empty side of the mattress: cool. Getting an early start in her studio.

He lay in bed, and like a dental patient whose tongue continually probes the damaged tooth, his mind poked at his gnawing ache of fear for his son, Philip, a pilot somewhere in the Pacific. Dreaded a knock on the front door and a black-edged telegram.

The fist in his chest clenched tighter.

Hell of a way to start the day.

Max now heard knocking and he froze. Muted voices and then Elizabeth’s tapping footsteps down the hallway. She stood in the doorway, her smock a rainbow of colors, her bed-tousled hair in a golden halo.

She must have seen the panic in his face and quickly she shook her head. “It’s not Philip. Jimmy Suzuki wants a word. But something’s wrong. He had tears in his eyes.”

The mention of tears in the kid’s eyes made Max’s heart pound faster. He threw on some clothes, plopping his feet into slippers with red piping. A retirement gift from his police squad in New York.

Elizabeth raised her eyebrows as Max approached.

He saw Jimmy hunched on the front step, in chinos and a leather jacket. Max liked him. And not just because he was the grandson of his friend, Tadeo. Jimmy exuded an earnest honesty as well as a puppy dog kind of delight in the world that could charm even Scrooge. But none of the optimism was in evidence now, tears in his eyes and a muscle playing in his jaw.

Max’s sense of dread deepened seeing this. “What are you doing out there, Jimmy? Come on in.”

A truck idled in the drive. James Suzuki, Jimmy’s uncle, sat behind the wheel, scowling. Max motioned for him to come in, too, but James waved off the invitation. Always a difficult man, Max thought. Next in line to the family business, impatient and stubborn. Let him sit.

Jimmy looked from his uncle to Max. “It’s okay Mr. Byrns. I can talk out here.”

“No, it’s not okay, Jimmy. Come in.” He grabbed his arm and tugged him inside.

“You’re always welcome here, Jimmy. You know that. You and your family.”

Jimmy shook his head. “It’s not the internment order, Mr. Byrns. It’s just we don’t believe in bringing evil news into the homes of others.”

“Evil news?” Elizabeth asked.

The word sent a spasm in Max’s guts as he watched Jimmy take a deep breath, blinking back a tear.

“It’s Jii-chan,” he said. “Grandfather Tadeo.”

The spasm returned. “What about him?”

“He’s dead. Fell over the cliffs at the Bluff.”

Bitter bile rose in Max’s throat. He turned from the door, wincing, struck. His heart raced; he wanted to scream. He breathed deeply, trying to gather himself, then made himself say, “I’m so sorry. Jesus, Jimmy. That’s terrible.”

He knew his words sounded hollow, but what else could he say?

And then his mind kicked in. “What was Tadeo doing there? That’s the restricted zone.”

“That’s the thing,” Jimmy said. “Sheriff McCall told us that Jii-chan Tadeo must have been spying for the Japanese. Says the Coastal Watch found a flashlight by him… by his body. That he was signaling the Japanese sub that shelled Santa Barbara.”

“Idiots, jackasses,” Max groaned, his mouth pinching and jaw tightening at the thought of these rube cops. “They wouldn’t know shit if they stepped in it.”

Elizabeth touched his arm; a soft reproach.

“Right,” Max said. “But hell, Tadeo is as loyal an American as any of us.” And as he spoke his friend’s name, he wanted to cry. Never to talk with him again, to see his gentle eyes.

Jimmy nodded. “Yes, he was.”

The past tense hit Max like a fist.

“They say he might have fallen because he was drunk,” Jimmy added. “That there’s evidence of alcohol.”

“Nonsense,” he all but screamed. “Tadeo never let a drop pass his lips since leaving Japan.”

“We all know it, Mr. Byrns, but they don’t.”

Max now wrenched his brain to try and take over. His first friend since moving to California; one of the finest he’d ever known.

“Is it possible—” Max began.

But Jimmy, as if reading his mind, vigorously shook his head.

“No. Not possible, Mr. Byrns. Grandfather came from a warrior family, but he rejected all that seppuku stuff. He’d never leave us to face these camps alone. Not possible. Jii-chan Tadeo would never take the easy way.”

Elizabeth spoke up. “Why don’t we sit in the kitchen? There’s coffee.”

She didn’t wait for Jimmy to decline, but took his arm.

Max, shoulders slumping, sat opposite, looking out onto the Zen garden that Tadeo had helped him create.

They all stared in silence, eyes turned to the garden, its neatly swept pebbles, its larger boulders seemingly randomly set but in fact the result of long meditation. Then Max spotted Tiny, off her lead now and sniffing at the bonsai pine.

Before anyone could scare the pup off, she squatted and began shitting with gusto.

Max then had to break into laughter. Jimmy and Elizabeth soon joined in, and their gloom lightened.

Hearing their raucous sounds, Tiny scampered away.

As their laughter subsided, Max sniffed. “We needed that,” he said.

The others nodded.

“You must tell your family how sad we are,” Elizabeth said.

“I will,” Jimmy said. “But I hope I can tell them more.” He looked straight at Max.

Max felt a new pressure, an implication in Jimmy’s stare.

“Grandfather didn’t fall by accident, Mr. Byrns. He wasn’t drunk and not a spy. So what would take him to the exclusion zone? Why?”

Max felt inept, baffled.

“The police don’t give a shit.” Then Jimmy caught himself. “Sorry Mrs. Byrns.” He again looked at Max. “His body hardly cold and already they say they know everything.”

“There must be something we can do.” And now Elizabeth too looked straight into Max’s face.

“There is,” Jimmy said. “There has to be.”

“What, Jimmy?” Max asked, though he already knew.

“We think someone killed him. Well, everybody but Uncle James. That’s why he won’t come in. He thinks we should leave it to the police, not make a ‘spectacle’ of ourselves. His words.” He shook his head, disgusted.

Max struggled for words, but finally shook his head with Jimmy.

“So,” Jimmy continued, “we hope you can find out who. With all your New York police experience.”

Max crossed his arms, holding onto his shoulders. He could not, could not believe this was happening. And he felt still too weak for the plod of investigation.

All he could manage to say was, “But who’d want to kill Tadeo? A wonderful man. Honorable, fair—”

Jimmy cocked his head and answered, “And he owned two hundred of the best strawberry-growing acreage around. You don’t build that sort of business without making enemies.”

Max nodded, struggling to focus. In his heart, he felt an overwhelming heaviness but also a fierce need to deal with this.

“All right,” he said, clenching his jaw. “I haven’t got any standing around here, but I’ll damn well try to get this right for Tadeo.”

Jimmy rose, wiping at his nose. “Thanks, Mr. Byrns. Grandfather Tadeo said you were a good man. We need a good man.”