No Surrender Soldier (18 page)

“That’s my good boy. Go ahead and fix somet’ing to eat.”

“Nana?”

“Yeah?”

“Can I talk to Tata?”

“He can’t talk now, Kiko. He’s ringing up customers… Wait… Eh? Yeah?… Kiko, I have to help him find somet’ing. You know your tata, he gets impatient when he doesn’t understand Japanese. He says I’m more better at it.” Nana forced out a little laugh. “We’ll be home soon, Son. I love you. ’Bye.”

I stood listening to the dial tone.
I love you too,
I wanted to say, but hadn’t since I was a little boy. Bobo barked from outside somewhere. I hung up the phone and went to the screen door. I didn’t see anyone, but Bobo didn’t bark for nothing.

Tatan’d been napping a long time. Maybe I’d better check on him.

Tatan wasn’t in his room. Not again! What he’d do? Sneak out while I was watching TV?

I ran to the tool shed. The busted lock hung loose on the hinge and the door swung open. Bobo couldn’t have opened it that wide, so I went inside and checked for what was missing.

Tatan’s machete.

I reached up on the shelf and behind the oil can for the gun. I wrapped my fingers around the muzzle.

Should I take it with me? I lifted the axe-patterned butt end.
Nah. Not a good plan.

I grabbed the sickle instead and ran to the boonies. Bobo joined me at the edge, sniffing wildly. The sun lingered above the horizon. The moon sat high above the coconut fronds. An eerie haze settled over the jungle.

“Tatan! Tatan!” I shouted.

Bobo’s nose led him in a serpentine path.

“Tatan! Tatan!”

We reached the river. Something moved by the banks. It was hunched over. No…. There were two… It was…

. . . deer. How could I mistake deer drinking from the river for humans? I felt so stupid. Either my eyes or the
taotaomona
spirits were playing tricks on me.

I sickled over to the bank. Bobo lapped water from the river.

The straggler was out there. I’d seen him! He had a knife. He’d hurt Bobo already. He could hurt Tatan. I had to find him. I had to.

My heart pounded like drums. I was breathing so shallow I felt as if I was suffocating again.

Bobo ran ahead, but I kept calling him back, fearing Bobo might get knifed like the other day, only worse.

I followed the river, veering off toward the bamboo thicket. As I rounded the banyan tree, my heart was divided. I looked off into the boonies, searching for signs of the pitiful, wild-eyed straggler. But foremost on my mind was Tatan. Where was he? More importantly, was he safe?

If anything bad happened to Tatan, it’d be my fault. I hadn’t told anyone soon enough about the straggler. What if it was too late and he’d killed Tatan?

Once above ground, Seto invoked his vow of silence.

He stood ankle-deep in water by the riverbank, hidden in thick reeds.
I must hurry and check shrimp traps. If my stomach had not protested I would not have chanced coming up tonight. It is too risky since native boy knows I exist.

Seto scooped water into a pot. He longed to quench his thirst but dared not drink without boiling it first.
After all, my sanitation system drains into this river, and never can tell what else dirties water. It would not be dignified to die of dysentery.

He almost chuckled, but froze at the sound of a voice calling, “Tatan!”

Is it that boy with his golden dog calling old man?

Seto very, very slowly squatted down in reeds. He plunged his hands into water and sloshed out two shrimp traps.
I will take them to my cave, set and bait them later when danger has passed.

From on top of the hill, the boy called out again, “Tatan! Tatan!”

“An-ton-e-o? An-ton-e-o?…” a voice hollered from the jungle below the sword grass. He called more words Seto could not understand. The boy got very excitable and jumped up and down when he heard the voice from the jungle. The boy and his golden dog ran back down the knoll.

Seto began to stand up. He stopped and knelt.

The voice is clearer. He is too close.
Seto crouched back down, rested on his haunches, and waited.

He listened to the swoosh, swoosh of footsteps trampling through dense underbrush.

Stand very still,
Seto told himself.
I dare not run. I barely breathe; fear has caught my breath away. If I could only spy out… a little…
Seto thrust his face forward, trying to peer through reeds.

Ah,
he gasped.

A husky old Chamorro man held a machete, like a samurai sword, high above Seto’s neck. He did not twitch a muscle. One downward swing and he would be beheaded.

“Do not let me die here!”
Seto cried to Kannon for mercy.

Tatan lifted his machete above the Japanese soldier’s head.

“You raped my Rosie!” Tatan cried, trembling.

“Nooo… !” I screamed and ran, never taking my eyes off them. “Tatan, stop!”

The shriveled old soldier dropped whatever it was he was holding and put his hands together in front of him. He bowed his head slowly to the ground. The whole time Tatan shook. Tears flooded his eyes and fell down his cheeks like a waterfall.

When I reached them I stopped dead an arm’s length from Tatan. I held out my hand, like that day on the beach. The Japanese straggler had his eyes squeezed shut. How could he stay bowed to the ground like that? Was he praying? Or waiting to be executed? No! This man wants to live or he wouldn’t have hidden for so long.

“Tatan. Give me the machete. You don’t want to do this. You are not a murderer.”

The soldier opened his eyes and looked at me, as if pleading for his life.

Tatan raised the machete. The soldier winced and cowered lower to the ground. Tatan cried out, “My Rosie! What have you done to my Rosie?” Hysterical wailing rose like tsunami waves out of Tatan. In all my years I’d never seen him in such gut-wrenching pain.

“Tatan,” I said, trying to keep my voice calm but firm. I moved my hand toward them. The soldier flinched. I realized I was still holding the sickle. I tossed it behind me as if throwing a Frisbee.

Bobo growled and bared his teeth at the straggler. I wouldn’t blame Bobo if he bit the man. I know I’d wanted to, after what he’d done to my dog. But I didn’t want Tatan to behead him.

“Tatan, give me the machete. This man is innocent.”

“He raped my Rosie!” Tatan stood up straight, raising the machete above his head. Snot ran from his nose but he made no attempt to wipe it.

“No!” I held my hand steady, but inside I was jellyfish. “Look at him Tatan! Look at him!” I pointed to the old soldier bowing on the ground. “The war is over. This man is defeated. He’s a walking skeleton. For Christ’s sake, don’t do this!” My eyes were blurry from sweat and tears.

I blinked to clear my vision and saw the machete lowering. I lunged, which was a really stupid thing to do. But I couldn’t live with myself if Tatan killed this man.

Tatan slashed the machete downward. It swooshed to the ground, narrowly missing the soldier. The Japanese man collapsed to the ground and curled into a fetal ball. Tatan dropped to his knees and buried his head in his hands, sobbing uncontrollably.

Breath heaved out of me. I reached down and picked up the machete, then sat down in exhaustion. “God, have mercy on us all,” I muttered as I wiped tears and sweat.

I don’t know how long we all stayed like that on the ground—not long enough to rest, for sure—when Tatan stood up. I scrambled up, too, and shouted, “Get up!” to the Japanese soldier. I didn’t know what to do with him. But I wasn’t going to go through this hell again. Tatan bawled behind his hands like a shamed child. I patted his back. “It’s all right. It’s going to be all right.”

The soldier slowly stood, bowed to me, then straightened as much as he could with his hunched back, and said,
“Dai-jobu. Dai-jobu.”
I wasn’t sure what he’d just said, but there didn’t seem to be any fear or anger in his voice. All I could think about was that I needed to get Tatan home safely. I wondered what the word “home” was in Japanese. I know that’s where Sammy would want to go if someone found him in the jungles of Vietnam.

I put my arm around Tatan’s shoulder and pointed to Bobo, still baring his teeth and growling at the soldier.

“Let’s take Bobo home. It’s over. It’s all over.”

Tatan grabbed Bobo by the scruff of the neck and pulled him until Bobo gave up guarding the soldier. But Tatan looked confused about which way to go, so I nudged the straggler and led him away from Talofofo River, through underbrush, and past the bamboo grove. When we got to the bamboo mat, Bobo sniffed wildly. Confusion still clouded Tatan’s face.

I called, “Bobo! Home!”

The straggler looked straight ahead, as if he didn’t know anything about what was under that mat. He turned his back on his underground tunnel and we marched on through the path I’d cleared earlier toward the pasture.

I led them past the cow pasture, and beside the baseball field, being careful to keep the machete by my leg. I didn’t want to seem menacing. The straggler was coming along peaceably. I was glad for that. But I wasn’t sure what to do with him once we got home.

The man stumbled. He lay on the ground. When he didn’t get up Tatan and I sat down beside him. Tatan searched through a pouch. He pulled out a fruit bat. The straggler shook his head, so Tatan put the dead bat back into his pouch.

“Come.” I stood and motioned for the straggler to get up. Tatan stood, but not the Japanese man.

He pointed to the pouch, then pointed to his mouth, motioning he wanted something else to eat.

Tatan placed his huge hands palms up, fingers spread, showing he had no more to give. I pointed toward the field beyond the boonies. I was careful not to raise the machete. I didn’t want to spook him any more than he might already be scared.

He got up and went with us. When we walked past the pig pen, the Japanese straggler said in broken English, “Made sick. No more eat pig.”

I looked at him. Was he trying to smile, as if he’d made a joke? Tatan lumbered past us both and took Bobo into the house.

The straggler hesitated at our doorway. For a moment I thought he was going to bolt. I carefully set the machete down on the stoop, then opened the door wider.

“Wa-ter?” the straggler asked hoarsely in halting, broken English.

I pointed to the kitchen sink, visible from the doorway. “Water.”

The Japanese soldier stepped over the threshold and into our house. I couldn’t read his face—astonishment, yet fear? I shook my head. I couldn’t imagine. He’d been hidden in the jungle longer than I’d been alive.

Tatan and Bobo weren’t anywhere to be seen. It was probably for the better. I didn’t care if Bobo was drinking out of the toilet and Tatan was taking a nap. Just so they were both in the house and safe. I’d check on them later. At the moment I had to figure out what to do with this very dirty, very hungry, and very, very lost World War II Japanese soldier stinking up our kitchen. Man, would I have some explaining to do when Nana and Tata got home.

I opened the refrigerator and dug out fish and rice and set it on the table. I poured a glass of water from the faucet and a cup of cold coffee from a pot left on the counter since breakfast.

The man devoured the fish. Next he shoveled rice into his mouth with his fingers. Food belched up his pipes, but he swallowed it down again, and held up his empty bowl and plate.

“Arigato,”
he said. I knew that word,
thank you
, in Japanese. He added in English, “More.”

I gave him the rest of our supper and figured Nana would understand. While the soldier was wolfing down fish and rice in between gulps of water and coffee, I sneaked to the phone in the living room and dialed, as quickly and quietly as possible, the police.

I turned my back to the doorway—and soldier—cupped my hand around the receiver, and whispered, “Get to Ferdinand Chargalauf’s house right away. A Japanese straggler is here.”

I quietly settled the receiver on its cradle. I wanted desperately to call my tata, but couldn’t risk leaving the soldier alone.

I rushed back to the kitchen and hunted for more food. I didn’t want him to get sick from eating too much. I didn’t want to have to clean up vomit. But I couldn’t think of how else to keep him there. For the second time in two nights I knew what was meant by “sweating bullets,” because that was what it felt like I was doing. My heart pounded out of my chest. I was so scared this would all end badly.

Just when it seemed we were totally out of food and I was debating whether to give him dog food to eat, I was relieved to hear a vehicle pull up outside. When I looked out the window I saw it was a jeep.

I went over to the straggler and squatted down to be on an equal plane with him. I didn’t want to startle him, and was afraid having the authorities come to take him away would freak him out.

“Uh…” I wished I knew Japanese at that moment more than anything. It was too late to call Tomas. But even if Tomas was there, I don’t think he could begin to express all the things I wanted to say to this man.

“Men… nice men, are here to help you.” I smiled, hoping he could tell I was being friendly.

There was a knock at the door and the straggler jumped and looked around. I checked behind me and saw Tatan standing in the doorway to the living room.

“It’s the police chief,” I said, not taking my eyes off of the straggler. “Come in!” I called, but not too loudly.

The door opened slowly and the straggler pushed back the chair. “It’s all right,” I said calmly, steadying myself with the table as I slowly stood up.
Don’t panic
, I kept telling myself in my head. The last thing I needed was mayhem in Nana’s kitchen. I was going to have a hard enough time explaining everything that happened tonight, including why I gave away all our food.

It was a good thing I knew the police chief. After the night of the bomb, nothing should have surprised him. But as soon as he saw the World War II Japanese solider in our kitchen, he cried out, “Mary, Mother of God!” and then was speechless for a while.