On the late afternoon of Wednesday, December 10, Howard had consented to the emergency signal. He had also agreed, reluctantly, to return to the village for a large meal and a restful sleep. And when Yoshio told him that it would be best if the pilot stayed with his family and out of everyone else’s way, Howard agreed to that too.
Nishikaichi entered the Haradas’ small, neat house and sat down on the simple handmade chair Yoshio nervously offered him.
The Keo twins shuffled in the doorway. They were typical of Niihauan youth, solid boys with hair yellowed by the sun and faces dirtied by the dust. The twin on the left (Yoshio could not tell them apart) held the round kakalaioa seeds in one hand. Later, he would hear the murmurs of the kini kini marble game in progress near the store’s shed. Now he handed them long, twisted strips of salted pork, which they accepted with diffident smiles, stuffing them into their denim pockets to eat on the ground near the horses where, as guards, they had been told by Mr. Kaleohano to sleep.
Yoshio sat down next to the pilot. They said nothing, just stared at their hands as Irene prepared their dinner.
Irene put plates of poi and salted pork in front of them. On another plate lay pieces of fruit.
-Eat, she said to the pilot softly, gesturing with the back of her hand in a scooting motion. She described the food carefully, practicing the language of her parents with each noun. Then she looked at him expectantly. He nodded.
-Arigato. You remember your native tongue well.
She bowed.
-No. Only a little.
Yoshio noticed that she blushed as she turned back to the food. He felt something in him suddenly thicken. Was he jealous? The pilot did look dashing, despite the fact that his skin was now burned a reddish brown and his hair stood churlishly on end, stiff with dust and salt. He was handsome, yes, but it was more than that. The uniform, for one. Even though it was blotted with dust and sweat, it was an impressive piece of clothing: hemmed and pocketed and riveted and seamed for every eventuality. He wanted to tear it suddenly from the pilot and put it on himself, as he had done with the hat. Instead, he anxiously wound his fingers together and watched his wife hover nearby. What should he say to the pilot? Was bargaining really the right thing to do? Once or twice he saw his wife glance at him, or perhaps at the pilot, he couldn’t tell.
Irene gestured and walked to the front door.
-Come with me for a moment, Yoshio.
He hesitated and then followed her outside.
-They’ve lit a signal, she whispered, though they spoke in English, which neither the pilot nor the Keo boys understood.
I know, he said. It’s all right. If he’s still alive, he’ll come. If not, we’re no worse off than before.
-But the Japanese! They will see the light and come to investigate! If they’re on Kauai like we think, they’ll be the ones the villagers are signaling to, not Mr. Robinson. Yoshio, can’t you see? We have so little time.
-Well, then, we must tell our neighbors why he’s here. It’s no good trying to do all this ourselves.
-Are you crazy? We’ll be blamed for everything! They’ll wonder why we didn’t speak up earlier!
-Shh. Please. Look, we’ll tell them that the pilot didn’t say.
-And you think they’ll believe us? Yoshio, I was at the store today and do you know what I smelled?
-I don’t—
-I smelled tobacco. It was as clear as if someone had blown it in my face. Well, not immediately. At first it was just like any other day, the women coming in and they loved my ornaments and that was so nice and I almost felt like telling them all about this, bringing them to our side, getting their help. It was hard to order those decorations without Mr. Robinson knowing, but I felt the women deserved them, that I could do this for the island. And they appreciated it and for a moment there was—well, I was happy. But then this smell. Sour. At first I thought it was that old bitterness of mine—here she laughed—leaking out into the air, but then I realized that it came from one of the women. It was in her hair. It was tobacco, Yoshio. Ella Kanahele smokes cigarettes!
-It doesn’t matter, said Yoshio. I mean, it’s just tobacco. Howard smokes like an imu. All day, all night. I know women don’t usually, but…He shrugged.
-You don’t understand, Yoshio. Would you ever have thought she smoked? An old lady like that? Of course not. And what else don’t we know? Perhaps the islanders don’t like us as you think. Perhaps the second they hear that Pearl Harbor has been bombed by the Japanese, they’ll blame us too, and then where will we be? Unable to save ourselves, and then the Japanese come and we don’t belong to them either. We’re shot with the rest of the villagers and the pilot goes free.
Yoshio turned away.
-All this because of a cigarette? He tried to keep his voice low, so that he found he was hissing. We’ve been here two years and when can you think of a single instance where we’ve been openly wronged? You’re being hysterical, kachan, I mean it.
-Am I? Or am I the only one here who can make a decision?
With that she walked back into the house, past the pilot and into the back room where Taeko napped.
Yoshio sat back down at the kitchen table and tried to appear unflustered. Perhaps his wife was right. It was time to make a decision.
-I should wash your flight suit, he said. The pilot looked up from his food.
-It smells? the pilot asked. It was half a question and half an apology.
-After a while, everything here smells.
-They didn’t tell us about this heat.
-I will bring you some of my clothes. They’ll be big, but all right.
-I don’t think so.
-If you’re asking us to trust you, you should at least trust us.
-It’s not that. It’s—He pushed his plate to one side. Okay then, he said.
Yoshio told Irene to fetch clean clothes, and though she refused to meet his eyes, she did not hesitate to return to their room to rummage among his things as he’d asked. He ignored his need to apologize or touch her shoulder, and instead decided that he would walk to the apiary while the young pilot dressed. There was no pressing need to visit the bees; nectar gathering was over, honey no longer available. The hive was hunkered down for the winter. But Yoshio still liked to hover nearby, doing nothing much really, but feeling his inchoate part in the whole. After a while, feeling calmer, he returned to the house the long way, walking past the pasture with the six Arabian horses Mr. Robinson so loved and entrusted to his care, past the honey shed. When he got to the house, he peered into the window.
Nishikaichi looked younger than ever, the too-big shirt and the pants, though cinched with a belt, perched just above his flat buttocks. He stood on the far side of the room. Yoshio watched as he raised his hands in front of his face and held them there, palms inward. Then he lifted them and began to pat his hair flat. This last gesture was so awkward, so boyish, that Yoshio turned away as if he had mistakenly interrupted him at an intimate moment of pure nakedness. When he looked back in again, the pilot was at the table, sitting quietly, his hands in his lap. He thought for a moment that this was a ruse; surely the pilot would prowl around the house in these spare moments, picking up small carvings, opening the few drawers. Yoshio watched him for a few more moments, feeling powerful and ashamed simultaneously, then walked quickly to the porch. There, to his surprise, was Irene, Taeko asleep in her arms.
Yoshio didn’t want to startle his wife; she looked so relaxed, leaning against the balustrade, perhaps asleep. Now her eyes fluttered open. For a second she looked almost beatific, then he saw a wisp of disappointment slide across her features. He couldn’t say why he knew this, exactly what her eyes or mouth did to signal this, but his own heart sank. The next thing he said came out of his mouth in a whispered rush, as if he could blow the look off her face with the wind of his words.
-We’ll help, kachan. It’s the right thing to do for everyone. It’s the only way to keep peace on the island. He’s just a boy, but there are his fellow soldiers to think about. We’ll destroy his papers and plane and figure it out from there.
And her features transformed then, and he saw her dark eyes widen and her small triangular face lift and open with relief and joy and something unknowable. He felt better then, better than he had in a long time, and when he walked back into the house he buried his dread with a quick nod of his head.
-Nishikaichi-san, he said. We must talk now.