Missing in Action (6 page)

Jay didn't know if Ken could do it. Maybe he was just bragging, like always.

Ken stopped. He turned and faced Jay. “Do people look at you funny because you're an Indian?”

“I'm not an Indian.”

“Part, you are. And you look Indian.”

“I know. But I'm not.”

“Don't you see it in people's faces, though?”

“I don't know.” He walked on past Ken. But then he admitted, “The boys in town call me Chief. Gordy does, anyway. But he's just joking.”

“No, he's not. He's telling you you're nobody. But look him in the eye, man. Don't let him turn you into nothing.”

Jay nodded. He thought of that word he hated: “worthless.”

“Here's what you gotta do,” said Ken. “Learn to play ball better than any of those guys. Then they can't say anything to you. They can't even think it.”

He hadn't thought about anything like that. He just wanted to play good enough so the guys would like to have him on their team.

“I was the best player on my team back in California. Everyone made fun of how small I was, but I didn't poke at the ball like a little leadoff guy. I swung hard.” He put his fists together and took a big swing. “I hit so many doubles and triples that the coach had me bat third, even fourth sometimes. And then I outdanced those same guys, and I could outswim them or outrun them, or out-anything-else them. Nobody called me names, either, because I'm like a wild dog in a fight.”

He hadn't expected this. Ken was usually joking around, not mad. But his voice was mad now—hard as pavement.

“I'll tell you what else. I made everybody laugh, and everybody at my school liked me. I was vice president of my sophomore class. There were only about ten Japanese kids in my whole school, and all those white kids voted for me. You need to know that stuff, Jay—how to laugh and get along with everybody. Your trouble is, you don't talk enough.”

Jay nodded.

“Why don't you speak up more?”

“I can't think of things to say most of the time.”

Ken grabbed Jay's arm, made him stop walking. “Hey, tell some jokes. Kid around a little. People like that. You have to be one of the guys—you know what I mean?”

“Yeah.”

“No, you don't. You're looking at the dirt again. Step up to guys and say something, have a little fun with them. Flirt with the girls. Tell 'em how good they look and all that stuff. That's what it takes.”

“Okay.”

“Okay, huh?” He waited until Jay looked up. “But you know you aren't going to do it.”

Jay tried not to look away this time. He wanted to say that he would do it, but he doubted he could.

“Let me tell you the facts of life, Jay. Nobody's going to set the table for guys like you and me and then invite us to come in and eat. We gotta open the door and walk in, and we gotta sit down at that table and start gobbling up the food—whether they pass it to us or not. You know what I'm telling you?”

“Yeah.”

“No, you don't. Look at me.”

Jay looked in his eyes again, but now Ken was laughing. He slapped him on the shoulder. “You don't get it yet. You're just a kid. But you'll figure it out. Just remember what I'm telling you, and after a while, maybe you'll catch on.”

Jay was nodding again, but that only made Ken laugh all the more.

Ken turned away and stepped up on the tractor, but before he started it, he said, “So those guys on your baseball team, are they good players?”

“No. Not very.”

“I coach a team out at the camp. Young kids like you. Do you think they would play us sometime?”

“I guess they would.”

“What do your friends say about us?”

“You mean . . .”

“Japs. What do they say about the
Japs
out at Topaz?” Ken was gripping the steering wheel of the tractor.

“I don't know.”

“Yes, you do. I can see it in your eyes. Tell me the truth.”

Jay looked out across the field. “They say some of you are spies, and you might want to go back and help the Japanese bomb California.”

Ken laughed. “What else?”

“Gordy's dad said you'll need cars, and you'll steal them in Delta. You'll cut people's throats at night and then take their cars.”

Ken laughed hard at that, but his voice was tight, not easy, the way it usually was. “What about Gordy? Does he think that too?”

“I think so.”

“What do you think?”

“I don't think you'll cut anyone's throat.”

“Hey, I might. Maybe I'll start with you. You better sleep with one eye open.”

Jay finally smiled.

“So you and me—Jap and Indian—are we okay? You like me all right, don't you?”

Jay thought of saying that he wasn't an Indian, but it didn't matter. “Yeah. We're okay.”

Ken tried to laugh again, but it didn't come out too well. “Do you know who those people are out there at the camp?”

Jay didn't know what Ken meant.

Ken twisted in his seat, then leaned forward with his gloved hands on his knees. “They're mostly farmers. Or they owned little shops. They don't cut people's throats. My dad is Japanese through and through, but his heart is broken right in half. He was making a go of things, running his little farm, and he could see how me and my sisters could do better here than back in the old country. Now he has nothing.”

“Gordy and those guys were just talking, mostly.”

“So what did you tell them?”

“Nothing.”

“That's what I thought. Did you tell 'em you've been working with a Jap?”

“No.”

“That's all right. I don't blame you. But look at me, Jay.”

He looked up at Ken, who was still leaning down. “My dad would never hurt anyone. He couldn't do it if he had to. And that's how the other men are. They're not like me. If they came into town, they wouldn't say hello to anyone. They would get off the sidewalk and let people go by. I know what you hear about
the Japanese army, and how they do things, but the people I know, the ones out at the camp, aren't like that.”

Jay nodded.

“My whole family lives in a place sixteen feet wide and twenty feet long. Two more families live in the same barracks, and there's hardly any walls between us. If we were troublemakers, we'd be having riots. We'd be standing up for ourselves, saying we won't put up with that stuff. But everyone's just doing what they have to do to get by until the war's over. After that, no one's going to keep us down—at least not me.”

Ken turned the key and pressed the starter button. The engine caught and started to grumble. “My name's not Kenji,” Ken yelled over the sound. “Not anymore. It's Ken. I'm an American. If you tell those boys anything, you tell them that.”

“DO YOU CARE IF I
play in the infield tonight?” he asked Gordy.

“Shoot, no,” Gordy said. “Give it a try. You can't be any worse than Dwight. Play second base.” Then he yelled to Dwight, “Play right field for a while. The Chief's going to give second a try.”

“Hey, I'm a second baseman,” said Dwight. “I don't like the outfield.”

“It don't matter. Just trade for a couple of innings.”

“Who made you the boss?” Dwight asked, but he was already walking backward, giving way.

“I ain't the boss. I never said I was. But fair is fair, you know what I mean? We might as well trade sometimes.”

But Gordy
was
the boss. He knew it and so did everyone else. He was one of the captains who chose the teams every night, and his team always won. He
always said he got first choice because he'd won the night before, and then he started by choosing Lew. Lately, he had started choosing Jay right after that.

Jay wanted to remember all the stuff Ken had taught him about fielding ground balls and throwing to first. Ken had been helping him practice his hitting, too. His stance was better, and he was learning not to swing at bad pitches. He had cracked a few long ones out at the farm.

He didn't have any ground balls come his way in the first inning, but he got up in the bottom of the inning and poked a nice line drive over the shortstop's head. Gordy would have stretched the hit into a double, but Jay didn't take any chances, even though he was pretty sure he could run as fast as Gordy.

“Hey, Chief, way to go,” Gordy was shouting. “That's the best swing you've taken all summer.”

Jay had driven in a run, too, and then he scored as the other guys kept hitting. When he returned to the field, right off, Albert topped a ball and sent a slow grounder toward the right side. Jay charged the ball, got low, watched it into his glove, spun and set his feet, and then threw to first.

The throw was a little high and Henry had to reach for it, but he made the catch. “Out!” Henry yelled, and so did Gordy, who was pitching. Albert thought he had beaten the throw, but all the guys in the field told him to get off the base, and his own team didn't argue
much. Everyone except Albert knew he was out. Albert mumbled a few cuss words, but then he gave up.

Gordy walked over to him. “Hey, Chief, where'd you learn to do that? No one around here—except me—ever charges the ball like you're supposed to.”

He didn't answer, but he was smiling a little. And in the next few innings, he handled most of the balls hit to his side. He bobbled one that he should have made a play on, but he made some good stops, and his throws got better and better.

When nine o'clock came, he didn't stop playing. He'd been pushing his time a little later pretty much every evening he played, and Mom hadn't been watching quite so closely as she had at first. She had met some of the guys he played with, and Grandpa was always saying they were okay. She seemed a little more settled down, too, not in such a bad mood all the time.

When the game broke up, it was almost ten o'clock. He and Gordy walked back through town. “What's going on, Chief?” he asked. “How come you're getting so good?”

“I'm not that good.”

“Better than most of the guys. Have you been practicing or something?”

“A little.”

“Who's teaching you?”

He wasn't going to talk about that. Gordy had found out that Ken was working for Grandpa, and he had said how bad that had to be, working with a Jap. Jay hadn't really agreed with him, but he hadn't dared to say that he didn't mind it too much.

“My dad taught me a lot about baseball before he went into the navy,” he said. “I've been trying to practice a little and do what he told me.”

“Who hits the ball to you? Patriarch Reid?” Gordy laughed at the idea.

“No. Sometimes I throw a ball at the garage out back, and then field it when it bounces back.” That was true, but it didn't work very well.

“So was your dad really good at baseball?”

“Yeah, I think he was kind of a star in high school. He was good at football, too. He played in college.”

“Then you're going to be good. Stuff like that comes down through families. My dad didn't play sports much, but he could break a horse when no one else could, and you've gotta be tough and have good balance and everything to stay on a horse when it's buckin'. Take you.” Gordy started laughing, his voice scratching like a rusty saw. “You could probably shoot a bow and arrow like nobody's business, if you tried.”

“I don't think so,” was all he said. He was thinking, though, that he would tell Gordy sometime to lay off that stuff.

“Maybe what we should do,” said Gordy, “is tomorrow night, not play a game, but teach all the guys how to play right. It sounds like you know what to tell 'em.”

They were walking past the show house. A poster out front said what was playing—a stupid show with lots of girls dancing in fancy dresses. “I remember quite a bit,” Jay said. “You're supposed to get in front of a ground ball, get your rear end down low, and watch the ball all the way into your glove.”

“Now see, I didn't know that. Not about getting my butt down.” Gordy stopped and tried the motion, maybe hunching down a little
too
low.

“You do it about right. I've watched you. You don't need to change anything.”

“I'm a natural,” Gordy said. “And I don't mean my face and my butt look the same.” That got him laughing again. He gave Jay a little slug in the shoulder. Skin was still peeling off his nose and forehead. It seemed like he was always sunburned. “I was
born
knowing what to do. There's no stopping me.”

“That's right.”

Gordy stopped again. “I'll tell you what, Chief. Let's both work like crazy and get really, really good, and then let's make it to the majors—maybe play on the same team and everything.”

“I doubt I ever could.”

“Hey, don't say that. We can do it. We got the ability,
and maybe a lot of other guys do too, but we'll work harder than them.”

Jay liked that idea. All of a sudden, it seemed like what he wanted to do.

“I'm good at basketball, too,” Gordy said. He made a motion like he was dribbling, and then he pretended to take a shot. “Gordy Linebaugh sinks another basket!” he said, in a voice like a radio announcer. “That boy never misses. And they tell me all the girls want to smooch with him after the games.”

Jay was laughing now. He couldn't help it.

“Did you ever kiss a girl, Chief? You know, someone besides your mother?”

“No.”

“I kissed Elaine Gleed one time. I chased her down at recess, back in fifth grade, and I tried to kiss her on the lips, but she turned her head. She slapped me too. But at least I sort of got her. She says she doesn't like me now, but she does. Someday she'll be standing in line after a ballgame, just hoping I'll take her out and smooch with her.”