Bomb (9780547537641) (11 page)

 

Nuclear scientists estimated that the heat generated at the center of the aerial blast, "Able," would measure several million degrees Fahrenheit. The outside surface of the burst was expected to be 22,000 degrees.

Whatever was happening with the Americans, food was still the village priority. It always had been and always would be, no matter where they moved.

Lokileni and Sorry trolled in midmorning with a bone jig, a steel hook suspended beneath a short length of bone, wired securely. Sometimes they used several strips of plain burlap to cover the hook, streaming it behind the canoe. A steady breeze pushed the outrigger at eight or nine knots, a good speed to lure a wahoo or tuna.

Game fish often attacked anything small that moved on the surface of the water. There'd be a flash of color behind the boat and the line would spill out, then jerk tight if the hook was firmly set. Glistening, the fish might leap totally out of the water in a fountain of spray.

Waiting for a strike, Sorry looked toward the village, now without the church and community buildings. They'd been taken down the day before. Even the uprights had come down. Tara was holding school in the sand, at the edge of the main palm grove. Since he had turned fourteen two years ago and become an adult, Sorry no longer attended regularly. He felt an emptiness, looking over there, and sudden, new anger at the navy for forcing them to leave. Chief Juda had been told by Lieutenant Hastings that the move to Rongerik would take place at the end of the first week in March, about two weeks away.

Maybe they should sail
all
the canoes back into Bikini lagoon just before the bomb was to drop? They could say, "Stop the bomb or kill us all—men, women, and children. You've taken our homeland, now kill us." Let the newsmen print that!

Sorry sat there thinking how he could carry Abram's plan further: they could decorate the war canoes with flowers, always the symbols of peace, put leis around their necks and wear warriors' flower headbands, and sail back into the lagoon.
The entire village could do it!

"When will we take our house down?" Lokileni asked, looking at the shore.

"The morning we go," he said absently.

It would take less than an hour to remove the walls and bundle them up. They'd leave the older roof thatch behind. While it might seem to the white men that the villagers' dwellings were laughable, one-room pieces of vegetation, they were perfect for tropical living.

"What about the frames?" she asked.

The frames were the only permanent parts of their house.

"The navy lieutenant said they'll provide all the new wood we need. They'll make wooden floors and tent the sides, put canvas up for the roofs. I don't think we'll want their roofs. We've slept under thatch too long. Canvas holds the heat. Our houses will be like ovens." But his mind wasn't on their new house.

Lokileni said with a laugh, "We'll use their canvas for sails."

Sorry said, "Yes, that's a good idea. Use anything they give us."

Lokileni said, "And I'm not sure I want to sleep on wood, either." The mats on coral pebbles with sand beneath were just fine. "Why change for the white men?"

Yes, why change for the white men?
Sorry silently agreed.
Why do anything for them that we don't have to do?

Everyone should be back at Bikini the day they planned to drop the bomb,
he thought.
They might not see one canoe. Surely they'd see eight. They'd see the women and children. That would give the radio and newspaper people something to talk about.

A few minutes later, the pile of
sennit
fishing line that was curled on the stern of the canoe
zing
ed, then became taut and shivered as the slender body of a wahoo shot up into the air thirty yards behind them. It plunged back into the lagoon again. The fish temporarily took their minds off Rongerik.

***

With the navy busy everywhere and other ships beginning to arrive, there were changes around the atoll every day, if not every hour. The death of Abram brought about still another change; Tara became the interpreter for Chief Juda.

Her English was not as good as Abram's, though they'd talked together in that language to practice it. But she spoke and understood enough to aid Juda in dealing with Lieutenant Hastings and some of the sailors who came ashore for one reason or another.

She also became the village nightly news reporter after listening to Armed Forces Network and taking notes. And she still taught classes in the morning.

 

Six thousand pairs of goggles were ordered for personnel who would be nearest the Able blast. Those personnel not fitted with goggles were told to turn away from Bikini a few seconds before the bomb drop, shut their eyes, and cover their faces with an arm. Failure to obey the instructions would result in temporary blindness.

A civilian, Dr. John Garrison, wearing shorts and a T-shirt, feet encased in marine field shoes, jumped off a landing craft at the tideline. Three brown canvas knapsacks were draped over his right shoulder; in his right hand was a strange, long-barreled pistol. A canteen was strapped to his hip. His thick hair was gray. He wore sunglasses.

"I'm looking for a lady named Tara Malolo," he said in Marshallese to the small children who'd run out to meet the boat, hoping for candy or cookies.

Lokileni and Sorry had seen the boat approaching and walked down to join the children. They eyed the pistol.

"I'm looking for Tara Malolo," the white man repeated.

"You speak our language," Sorry said.

The man smiled. He had a nice, warm, fatherly face. "I try. I studied night and day on the train from Washington to San Francisco, then on a ship to Hawaii, and on two more ships, until I arrived here yesterday. I was told on the
Sumner
to contact Tara Malolo."

Sorry had seen a Coast Guard buoy tender tie up to the
Sumner
yesterday.

"Do you speak any English?" the white man asked.

"Some. I'm learning," Sorry said.

"Then we'll talk in your language. I'm John Garrison."

"My name is Sorry. This is my sister, Lokileni. We'll take you to Tara."

Dr. Garrison followed them and the jabbering small children up the beach toward Chief Juda's house. There were so many daily visitors now that adults seldom paid attention to new arrivals. The Dr. Garrison parade, children trailing, reached Juda's in the middle of an argument between Tara, Lieutenant Hastings, and the chief.

"Make him sign a piece of paper saying we can return here in two years, make him do it," Tara said. "They promised."

The lieutenant did not understand a word of Marshallese and was becoming exasperated. Also, he was not accustomed to dealing with a woman. His khaki shirt showed sweat stains.

With Lokileni and Sorry, Dr. Garrison stood a few feet away, listening, head cocked to the side.

Later Sorry learned that Hastings had come to Juda to say that an LST, a landing ship tank, which could carry a lot of cargo, would take a group of their men, building materials, and equipment to Rongerik in a few days to begin work on the replacement village.

Juda said, "It is too late to ask them anything."

"It's never too late," Tara insisted, carrying on for Abram.

Hastings interrupted, "I don't know what you two are talking about, but I'm telling you to pick as many men as you want to help with the construction."

Tara translated.

The Seabees, the navy construction corps, had already designed the new village.

"You have to help make your own homes," he said.

Tara said bluntly in English and then in Marshallese, "We're talking about you signing a piece of paper saying we can return here in two years."

"I'm not signing any paper," Hastings said. "We own this island now. It's a U.S. possession. We took it from the Japanese. You'll do what we say."

Tara stared at the officer, then said calmly, "Suppose we refuse to leave."

Lieutenant Hastings took a deep breath. "Then we'll march everyone onto the LST. You're going to Rongerik, all of you! Believe me!"

Tara translated for Juda and then said, "Oh? At gunpoint, Lieutenant?" She seemed to be enjoying the argument.

Hastings reddened and fought to control his temper.

Dr. Garrison took advantage of the lull and said, "Excuse me, I'm John Garrison. I was told on the
Sumner
to contact Tara Malolo." He spoke in Marshallese.

"I'm Tara Malolo."

They shook hands.

Garrison introduced himself to Chief Juda and said, "I'm from the National Museum, part of the Smithsonian. I'll be all over the atoll for the next few months to take samples of bird, sea, and island life, then do 'before and after' studies."

"Why the pistol?" Tara asked. Scientists did not usually carry guns.

Dr. Garrison laughed. "To shoot birds. Made it myself—I have three other barrels for it. I'll try to take at least three specimens of all the wildlife, then come back here in six months, after the bombs go off, and make health comparisons. I just wanted to let you know I was here."

"If you need help, call on me," she said with a smile. "You'll find a lot more birds on Nantil, the next island north."

Garrison thanked Tara for the offer and went out to explore Bikini. He was the first of dozens of scientists who would descend on the atoll. Sorry and Lokileni followed him out, anxious to see him use the odd-looking pistol.

As they left, Sorry heard Tara say to Lieutenant Hastings, "You haven't answered my question about the guns."

 

The two atomic weapons for the aerial shot and the underwater detonation had been assembled at the Los Alamos laboratory, the same lab that had produced the Trinity test bomb and the ones used in japan. The new bombs awaited a ship ride to Kwajalein.

Crossroads was appropriately named: Science had opened the door to the atomic age, and mankind was at the crossing of roads that might lead to peaceful use of the atom or to death and destruction around the globe.

A day later, at twilight, Sorry and Lokileni sat in the sand where the council building had been and listened to Tara relay the day's news. "The military station in Kwajalein isn't saying very much about it, but Honolulu is. Protests are starting." She had dialed in NBC-Honolulu on shortwave after the Armed Forces Network broadcast.

"People are writing to the president and to the navy, senators, and congressmen. Some newspapers are saying not to drop the bomb. Some atomic scientists say to cancel the tests; they'll prove nothing. The destruction and death they'll cause is already known. There's a lot of talk about us, about Bikini."

"Are you telling us the tests might be canceled?" Sorry's mother asked.

"I'm only telling you what the radio said," Tara answered. "But if enough people protest, maybe the navy will postpone the tests or call them off. There is still a chance."

"That's wishful thinking," said Leje Ijjirik sharply.

"It does no good for the people to raise their hopes, Tara," said Chief Juda.

"And how do we know that she is telling the truth?" Leje asked.

"Come and listen for yourself," Tara replied evenly, calmly. Leje couldn't understand a word of English.

The news session ended a few minutes later. Aside from Leje and a few others, almost everyone was still hoping that something miraculous might happen to put off the dreaded hour of departure. Grandfather Jonjen conducted prayer services at sundown, asking God to save them.

***

On February 25 a landing ship tank 327 feet long, veteran of the Marshall Islands' battles, crunched up on the beach. The bow doors swung open and the loading ramp was lowered. Sorry had never seen a ship like the LST 1108, an ugly, bulky thing.

It was the day the villagers finally surrendered, accepted their fate, acknowledged the power of the navy and the giant government it represented. They'd been foolish to think things could be otherwise, as Leje had said.

The 1108 carried enough food to last a month on Rongerik. Thirty thousand gallons of fresh water. Tools, lumber, cement, tent frames; wooden floors for twenty-six dwellings. There were corrugated sheets of iron for water catchments and many other things that they'd never seen. The navy had taken charge, down to the last nail and bag of cement. The villagers were bewildered.

Sorry willingly helped carry the new pandanus thatch that had been woven by the women. The dismantled pieces of the church and town council buildings went into the lower tank deck, along with the matting. Lokileni and Sorry worked side by side, saying little.

In late afternoon, the 1108 pulled up her loading ramp and closed the bow doors. Her smoky diesels began spinning the two propellers, and she backed down off the sand. Twenty-two men had volunteered to go to Rongerik for a week, to help the Seabees construct the new village. The men stood on the bow, near the forward gun tubs, waving good-bye, their faces solemn.

All others stood on the beach to see the 1108 depart. They watched until the shape of the tank ship began to dissolve in the distance.

Sorry momentarily wished he were going along. He didn't know about anyone else, but he had mixed feelings during these last days on Bikini. He was overwhelmed with the Americans and all their possessions. He couldn't judge them as harshly as Abram had done. What he was wishing was that he were on the 1108 and that they were going not to Rongerik, but rather to America.

***

After touring Dr. Garrison around the island, showing him the cemetery and Abram's fresh grave with its new headstone, the Japanese barracks, and the bunker where the soldiers had killed themselves—after walking him from one end of the island to the other—Sorry and Lokileni became his helpers. Into the canvas knapsacks went starfish and sea urchins and sea cucumbers and shrimp and crab, examples of every living organism they could find along the lagoon shore and over on the barrier reef.