Caged Eagles (29 page)

“And how do you figure that?”

“At least this way if we get caught it doesn't involve him.”

“I guess that makes sense. But maybe you shouldn't have done it. I don't want you to get into trouble.”

“Too late for that. Besides, I didn't have a choice.”

“How do you figure that?” I questioned.

“You're my friend. You needed the truck. End of story.”

“Thanks, Sam … thanks.”

We drove along in silence. Occasionally the lights of an oncoming car appeared down the road, got bigger and passed us in a flash. Each time I held my breath for that split second. Worse, though, were those vehicles that came up from behind us. They came alongside and slowly passed us, having the opportunity to look up and through the windows. It only happened a few times, and I couldn't see into their vehicles so I figured they couldn't see us inside ours, but it was a

terrible feeling.

“Has your father decided where your family is going to go?” I asked.

“He's still trying to arrange for us to go out east.”

“To Ontario?”

“Hamilton.”

“Where's that?” I asked.

“Close to Toronto … a long way off.”

“I guess that makes Alberta seem a lot closer.”

“Closer, yeah, but … better?”

That was more a statement than a question. We'd heard nothing about Alberta that didn't indicate it would be hard. The only question was how hard.

“It's going to be okay. Besides, it doesn't matter whether it's Ontario or Alberta or wherever, as long as we stay as a family,” I said.

Sam geared down and the truck slowed. We passed a road sign, but I wasn't able to read it. Sam slowed the truck more and turned onto a narrow, gravel road.

Though there were no lights, I could see that ditches lined both sides, and beyond were planted fields. A few isolated lights in the distance marked houses set well back from the road.

“I was wondering,” Sam said. “Do you think you could give me your friend Jed's address?”

“Sure, but why would you want it?”

“It's the only way you and me can stay in touch,”

Sam said.

“I don't understand.”

“You're gone tomorrow and you don't where you're going, right?”

“Yeah?”

“And by the time you get there and write me here at the park, assuming the censors even let it get through with an address, I might be gone. So we both write to Jed, and he writes back and passes on the other's address so we can exchange letters.”

“That makes sense,” I agreed.

“You do want to stay in touch, don't you?” Sam asked.

“Of course!”

“'Cause I figure after all we've been through we should write.”

“I'd like to do that.”

“Maybe we could even visit some time.”

“Alberta to Ontario is a long way.”

“None of this is forever. Who knows, someday we may even be neighbors.”

“Neighbors? Me and you?”

“Why not? About the only thing I've learned from all this is that you never can predict what's going to happen,” Sam said. “Could you have predicted any of this?”

“I guess not,” I had to admit.

Sam geared down and the truck slowed almost to a stop. All at once the road went pitch black — Sam had shut off the lights.

“Why did you do that?” I asked in alarm.

“We're almost there.”

“We are?” I looked all around, waiting for my eyes to adjust to the darkness. Soon I could see that there were still open fields on one side, while on the other the land had given way to water. We crept forward.

“Can you see where you're going?” I asked, peering through the windshield.

“I can see enough. Besides, I can't risk us being seen — wow!” Sam said as he brought the truck to a complete stop. “Look at that!”

Off to the side, backlit by the moon reflecting off the water, were boats, more boats than I'd ever seen, more boats than I'd ever imagined I'd ever see in one place. And somewhere out there was our boat.

.23.

“I'll be back in three hours,” Sam said. “Is that going to be enough time?”

“I'm not sure. Do you think you can give us a little more time?” I asked.

“Can't,” he said, shaking his head. “By the time I drop you all back at Hastings, and then drop off the truck and get back myself, it'll be almost daybreak.”

“I understand. We'll be here. What are you going to do?”

“Drive a bit. Maybe find a place where I can sit with the truck that's a little more private than here.”

“Okay, we'll see you at three … and Sam, thanks.”

“That's okay,” he said. “And good luck.”

I closed the door as quietly as I could and leaped down off the step and onto the ground. I scurried off the gravel road as the truck's engine came to life with a roar. In the still of the night that sound could probably be heard for miles across the flat land and open water.

I stood and watched as it headed up the road. Within a few seconds it faded into the darkness, although the sound of the engine continued to cut through the night. At least we wouldn't have any trouble hearing the truck coming back.

Standing on the edge of the road, I could see a number of wooden docks extending into the water. A couple of small boats were bobbing up and down, tied to the nearest docks. I could see the darkened shapes of my father and the other men as they headed out onto one of the docks. By the time I caught up with them, Mr. Hirano was already sitting in a rowboat. The other two men climbed down into the boat with him, while my father bent over and untied the ropes that held it to the dock.

“Get in,” my father said, without looking back.

“Can we all fit? Is it big enough?”

Mr. Hirano snorted. “As long as nobody takes too big a breath.”

That wasn't the reassurance I was looking for.

I climbed into the small space in the bow. My father pushed off, and the whole boat rocked and rolled as it glided away from the dock. Mr. Yamamoto and Mr. Nakayama, side by side in the middle seat, took up the two long oars and began to row us toward the dark shapes of the fishing boats about fifty yards away.

Luckily, it was completely calm, as there wasn't more than three inches of gunwale above the waterline.

“Tadashi,” my father said.

I turned around to face him.

“Do you have a knife?”

“A knife! Why would I need a knife?” I asked in alarm.

“To cut ropes.”

“Oh … no, I don't.” As far as I knew, nobody in the camp had a knife, not even to eat their meals with.

My father passed something to Mr. Hirano, who passed it forward to me. It was a large knife, secured within a leather sheath. I pulled it out of the sheath.

Light glistened off the blade. I gently ran a finger along the edge. It had been recently sharpened. I pushed it back into the cover and shifted my weight so I could put it in my pocket, but it was too long, so I tucked it down my pants.

In my mind I started to try to figure things out.

There were around twelve hundred boats and five of us. We had three hours, less the time it would take to row across to the boats and back again. We probably had two hours to search. It wasn't much time. And we still had to have time to sink the boats. All without attracting the attention of the guards.

I looked up. We were practically in the shadow cast by the nearest boat. I could now see how the boats were moored. A series of pilings ran parallel to the shore, spaced about fifty yards apart. The pilings ran in three or four rows, each row about twenty-five yards farther from shore. The fishing boats were moored to cables strung between the pilings, side by side and nose to nose, a bit like cattle feeding from each side of a trough. The boats were packed so tightly that it looked like once we got onto the first boat, we would be able to make our way right through the fleet by climbing from the stern of one of the longer boats in one row onto the next row.

The oars were pulled out of the water and we glided forward. I reached out a hand to cushion us as we bumped against the bigger boat. I got to my feet and reached up to steady the little rowboat so that the others could climb out. Starting with Mr. Hirano, they quickly climbed onto the deck of the larger vessel.

In rapid Japanese my father and the men described their plan. Staying close together, separated by no more than one boat, they would move from vessel to vessel. They were certain that all their boats, all the boats of our village, would be tied together or close together, so if they found one, they would find them all.

I looked at my watch. There was barely enough light to read the dial. It was almost twelve-thirty. We had only two hours left to search.

Of all the things that had happened over the past months, I couldn't think of anything that seemed as unreal as what I was now doing. I tried to stay low as I walked along the length of the boat — it wasn't one that I recognized. Off to my side I could just make out the silhouette of one of the other men, maybe it was even my father, moving along beside me on another vessel.

The boats were all tied with very little space between them. In places, they had old car tires hanging over the side as bumpers, but sometimes the tires were just sitting uselessly on the deck. I had to fight the urge to put them over the side. I could only imagine the damage that would be done if a storm blew up and the vessels were bounced wildly on the waves.

I moved as quickly as I could from boat to boat, looking for something familiar, something that spoke to me of my village. Around me, I was only sometimes aware of the movement of some of the other men.

I stopped again to look at my watch. More clouds had rolled in and there was less light to read the dial. It looked like it was almost quarter past two. Behind us was row after row of boats, boats we had searched without success. In front, an even greater expanse of vessels stretched out. And somewhere nearby there had to be guards, whose job it was to watch over this fleet. Of course, we hadn't seen anybody, but we knew they had to be there. Most likely they were on shore, huddled around a woodstove in a shed, or perhaps even sleeping. If they were anything like the guards at the park, we had nothing to fear from them. Then again, why would they need to be vigilant? It wasn't like anybody would even suspect that anyone would come here to sink boats.

Regardless, time was passing, quickly. Even if we did find the boats, would we have time to sink them, travel back over all the other vessels, locate the rowboat, get back across and find Sam? I looked back, trying to pick out the point of light on the far shore that marked where the rowboat had been tied up. I didn't see it.

Maybe it would be best to just give up and — I heard a whistle. The hairs on the back of my neck stood up straight. That was the signal we'd agreed on if somebody came across one of the boats.

I turned my head and tried to figure out where it had come from. My father had been off to my right and — the whistle came again. Definitely off to the right side, and up ahead. That was the direction I'd have to go.

I felt a surge of renewed energy. I leaped over to the next boat, my feet slipping as I landed on the deck; I grabbed the bulkhead to regain my balance. I crossed over the deck and climbed the railing. There was no open water between that boat and the next, and I just stepped onto it.

Up ahead I caught sight of movement on one of the boats. I froze, thinking it might be a guard, but almost instantly realized it had to be one of us — nobody else would be out here in the middle of the night, jumping from boat to boat.

I walked along the length of the vessel and then was startled as a figure stood up right in front of me.

I jumped backwards in shock before I realized it was Mr. Hirano.

“Sad shape,” he said. “Taking on water below.”

“Has my father found our boat?”

“All boats. All four. Almost side by side. Your boat is there,” he said, pointing up ahead.

They all looked pretty much the same in the dark, but there was something about that boat just two in front that was unmistakable. I cut from one to the next and then landed on the deck of our boat. My father came out of the bridge. In his hands was an ornate vase. I'd forgotten that we'd had to leave things on board when we left for the park.

“For my mother,” he said.

For a split second I didn't understand what he meant. Then I understood. Her remains, her ashes, were now in a plain wooden box. This would be a better urn.

Of course, there were other things on board that we could have taken. Things we could use, things that we owned and should rightfully come with us. But I also knew that there wasn't any possible way to take anything more on that little rowboat. Nor would we be able to take much more with us on the trip to Alberta.

“Almost everything else … gone.”

“What do you mean?” I asked.

“Taken. Someone opened the boxes. Took things, broke things. Hardly anything left.”

I didn't know what to say, but why would I expect anything different here than at our home? It was like vultures swooping down on the remains of our lives.

“My boat,” my father said, shaking his head sadly.

“Look how she was kept.”

I couldn't tell much in the dark, but I couldn't imagine how it wouldn't be in bad shape.

“She might have sunk all by herself, if we did not come along.”

“What do you want me to do?” I asked.

“The ropes. Cut those that are attached to that boat, and that one,” he said, pointing them out. “Those aren't ours to decide. But leave her tied to Nakayama's vessel. The two ships can keep each other company on

the way down.”

“And what are you going to do?”

“Pull the main plug. Now go … hurry … not much time,” my father said as he turned and left to go below deck.