The Purple Heart (5 page)

Her father’s low voice came
back through the microphone but in a boasting manner, “Tell your mother the
fishing is great and that I was right!”

Minami looked over to the
kitchen table as her mother let out a “Hmph.” Minami smiled amusingly. “That’s
great Dad! I’ll be out to help you when you get back.” Minami let go of the
microphone and then she turned away from the kitchen table and depressed the
microphone once more, “And Dad, you know Mom is mad because you were supposed to
take her out. Why don’t you think of something to make it up to her?”

A crackling came over the
speaker and her father’s voice came through once more, “Tell your mother I’ll
bring back the biggest fish for her,” he said jokingly. Then his voice trailed
off.

Minami returned the
microphone to its place and turned around to see both of her sisters seated at
the table. She walked over and sat in her usual place that faced the backdoor
leading out to the docks. Her two sisters, who sat facing Minami, greeted her
as they began their breakfast. Her mother had already seated herself at one end
of the table. She was helping Yoshi, who sat on her left, cut up his food
despite his grumbling. Minami looked down to her right and smiled at Yoshi and
then looked at the empty seat to her left where her father usually sat. He
liked that seat because he could look out onto the dock; it gave him some
comfort that he could see his fishing trawler, even if it was just the top of
the mast.

Miho, the second-oldest
daughter at seventeen, was talking excitedly about an upcoming school event.
She was a senior at the nearby high school. The fifteen-year-old youngest
sister, Yuka, was listening intently. Yoshi continued to play with his food
while Minami’s mother finally gave up on him and started to scoop rice into her
mouth with her chopsticks.

The morning had already
started as the bustling from the neighbors could be heard outside. From the
docks, Minami could hear boat motors being started and the yells of their proud
captains. It was the livelihood of many in the Japanese American community. Her
father was definitely a fisherman. He loved the ocean, being the captain of his
own boat and sailing out into the vastness of it. When the opportunity came, he
uprooted the entire family to their current house so that he could be closer to
the ocean. Minami’s mother was worried about the tides and how the entire
family could be swept out to sea during a fierce storm. But over time, that
unfounded fear eventually ebbed away as the Ito family became another fishing
family.

On that day though, her
father was right. He got the early morning jump on the other fisherman and if
he wasn’t embellishing earlier, he probably had a good haul that would fetch
handsomely at the market.

Crackling suddenly interrupted
the morning breakfast over the two-way radio that caught everyone’s attention.
It was very garbled, but it was unmistakably Minami’s father. In an almost
inaudible voice they heard their father. “Mayumi to Ito House! Mayumi…” It was
another one of their father’s excited messages, probably boasting about another
exploit at sea. Minami’s sisters and brother turned away and went back to their
breakfast. Minami’s mother looked at her and said, “Why don’t you go see what
your father wants?”

Minami nodded and got up
from the table. The two-way radio blasted again and she could barely make out
what sounded like, “Turn on the radio!” The two-way radio was already on she
thought. Why was her father being so silly? She grabbed the microphone and
spoke into it, “Ito House to Mayumi, the radio is on.”

Her father’s excited voice
came through the microphone, but there was more static than usual, “Is the
radio turned on? Are you listening?”

“Yes, the radio is on Dad,”
replied Minami.

“Listen to the radio! I’m almost
docked! I’ll be right in!” yelled her father.

“Okay Dad, over and out,”
responded Minami, and then the two-way radio went silent. Minami placed the
microphone back down and walked back to the kitchen table. She passed the
screen door and glanced out in the direction of the dock and saw people
hurrying along. Gray clouds had started to gather over the horizon. A storm was
coming she thought. Maybe that’s what her Dad was fussing about.

“Dad’s coming in soon,”
Minami said to her mother casually as she settled back into her seat. Her
mother simply nodded as she wiped Yoshi’s mouth.

The sounds of excited boots
were heard on the wooden steps outside the backdoor and the screen door was
suddenly pulled opened as their father entered. He looked harried and distracted
as he rushed in with his dark green trawling outfit and yellow rubber boots
that was still wet and laced with fish entrails. Everyone at the table swung
about to look at him with muted expressions. Their father looked at his family
sitting calmly at the kitchen table. He then looked around, listening to the
silence.

“Why isn’t the radio on?”
their father shouted sternly. His eyes were glaring but it wasn’t simply anger
in his look, but one of shock as well.

Confused and somewhat taken
aback, Minami stated, “The radio is on, Dad. I just spoke to you on it.”

Minami’s father’s
expression then turned to one of disgust and frustration. “Not
that
radio!” he shouted. Minami’s father then quickly stomped toward the radio that
was sitting on the counter near the refrigerator. The entire family just stared
at him in utter bewilderment as he grabbed the radio, spun around and turned it
on. The radio then came to life and his father looked up at his family. His
expression turned to disappointment.

“They bombed Pearl Harbor,”
he simply said.

There was a moment of
silence and Minami looked at her father and asked, “Who?”

“The Japanese.”

The Ito family had gathered
into the living room immediately after breakfast with the radio on the coffee
table taking center stage. Minami’s father frantically switched back and forth
between different radio stations to get the latest news until finally settling
on one.

The tone of the radio
announcer reflected shock and quiet incredulity. He recapped the unfolding story
starting with the Japanese, who had launched a surprise attack on Pearl Harbor,
where most of the United States Pacific naval fleet was stationed. The Japanese
had succeeded to devastating effect. For many Americans, World War II had been
a distant war on another continent; they never thought that it could ever touch
them. But Pearl Harbor told America that it was no longer invulnerable. The
radio announcer commented that for future years to come, every single American
would remember where they were on December 7, 1941.

Minami’s father sat back in
his chair, his strong forearms resting on top of each of the armrests with his
fingers draped over the ends. With his chin slightly lowered, he simply stared
ahead, unmoving and devoid of any emotion. His hair was disheveled after coming
in from the morning at sea. He had taken off his trawling outfit and was simply
in his jeans, a white T-shirt that still smelled of fish and his thick white
socks. His wife and a sleeping Yoshi were on one side and his three daughters
on the other.

The news was filled with
the names of the ships that were bombed, the Arizona, the California, the
Oklahoma, the Nevada, and so many more. The radio announcer painted a picture
born out of fiery hell itself. The unchallenged aircraft streaking across the
sky as they unleashed bombs that whistled through the air. Those bombs
burrowing through the steel hull of hulking battleships, allowing the viral
fire to fester. Desperate defenders from the decks of the wounded battleships
sent up bullets toward the planes in the smoke-laden sky. Steel bulkheads
creaking and tearing under their own weight as the once mighty battleships
began to topple over, succumbing to the flames that ate them from within.
Bodies of the lifeless sailors floated in the water, hoping silently to be
found by their fellow sailors. Frantic yells from the sailors, who in vain
tried to douse the fires with desperate streams of water from their fire hoses,
pierced through the air. It was hopeless.

The Ito family felt for
their fellow Americans. Their hearts ached every time a new ship was announced.
Minami was angry that America was attacked in such an underhanded fashion. But
anger turned into sadness as it sank deeper into a void of hopelessness left by
the attack as the number of lost lives mounted. She could only imagine so many
lost lives until she didn’t want to anymore. Sadness finally turned into
sympathy, for the fallen sailors, the civilians who were at the wrong place at
the wrong time. But a sense of fear stabbed at her, each one with more
intensity every time the radio announcer mentioned the word “Japanese,” and she
didn’t know why.

Minami’s mother broke the
deadening silence. She stirred from her seat and carefully propped up a
sleeping Yoshi into a sitting position. Miho, awakened from her own world,
quickly went over and took Yoshi from her mother in silence. Minami’s mother
quickly wiped away some of the drool from Yoshi’s mouth, and then got up.
Everyone watched her furtive movements except for their father who continued to
stare onward. “I’ll make something to eat,” was all she said as they had spent
hours by the radio and skipped lunch.

“I’ll help, Mom,” said Yuka
as she gave her nose one more wipe and got up to follow her.

Minami looked over to her
father, who sat there like a statue, gripped in his own turmoil of thoughts. He
seemed so far away. “Dad?” Minami asked cautiously.

Her father didn’t respond.
His eyes were fixed on something so far away that it was beyond everyone’s view.
Minami, in a stern but respectful voice said once more “Dad?” She wanted him to
wake up from his trance and come back. She needed him. His family needed him.
He was the core of the family strength, the father who held the family together
and defender of the Ito name. For a moment her father didn’t respond and then
his eyes blinked. Like a marble statue slowing flexing its joints, he turned
his head slowly, looked at Minami and then turned back. “It’s time for dinner
girls, take Yoshi with you.”

Miho did so obediently and
carefully lifted the still sleeping Yoshi and walked toward the kitchen. Minami
got up as well and then turned to her father who hadn’t moved. “Dad, aren’t you
coming?”

He continued to stare on.
He let out a sigh and simply said under his breath, “I’ll be there.” Minami
accepted his answer and slowly walked away from him. But she so wanted to turn
around and throw her arms around her father and tell him that everything would
be okay. She turned around one more time toward her father to possibly act on
her impulsive thought. Her father continued to sit there, with the radio still
on. But despite his seemingly cold stare, his eyes had slowly welled up with
tears until finally one tear slowly rolled down his normally stern face.

Early the next morning, Mr.
Ito woke up earlier than usual with his wife. He was nervous and still unnerved
from the previous day’s events. In their bedroom, he quickly told his worried
wife that she needed to gather anything that was connected to Japan. Mrs. Ito
nodded; she knew what her husband was asking of her. In the early morning
light, he looked into his wife’s eyes and tried to put a smile on his face to
reassure her. Before he could be sure whether or not he had succeeded, he left
their bedroom and headed down to his fishing trawler.

The sun was barely breaking
the horizon as he jumped into his trawler and hauled up the previous day’s
catch, which was a handsome bounty. He was able to put it on ice but he knew he
couldn’t sell it. As he pondered what he would do with the fish, a familiar
voice spoke to him, “Why did you do it?”

Mr. Ito looked up and it
was his neighbor, a fellow fisherman, Joe Merrill. He was one of the very few
white fishermen that he had befriended over the years. He was a middle-aged man
with long, slightly thinning, grayish hair that was slicked back. His face had
a weathered look and his blue eyes just stared at Mr. Ito. He was of average
height, and he had gained some weight around his belly. He stood there on the
dock in his denim overalls and looked down at Mr. Ito. Joe had his own boat
moored next to Mr. Ito’s boat and witnessed the
Mayumi’s
transformation
from the day it was brought home to the day of its christening and immediately
admired Mr. Ito’s dedication and determination. But that day, Joe didn’t see
that man. Instead he saw the face of the enemy that attacked America.

“Joe, it wasn’t me. The
Japanese bombed Pearl Harbor,” said Mr. Ito as he clamored out of his trawler
deck onto the beaten wooden planks of the dock.

“But they’re your people!
How could you not know?” responded Joe in a strident tone.

“How could I not know?
Because I’ve spent the last two decades building a life here for my family.
That’s what matters to me, not what’s going on over there. My home is here, by
the ocean.” Mr. Ito entreated his friend to understand.

For a moment, it was no
longer the Japanese man talking back at Joe. It was instead his neighbor and
Mr. Ito’s eyes penetrated his anger and suspicion. Joe looked down and exhaled
loudly, “This is hard.”

“It’s hard for me too, Joe.
I’m worried too, wondering what’s going to happen to my family.”

Joe looked up, “You’re
right. You had nothing to do with this.”

“Thank you for
understanding,” said Mr. Ito appreciatively. He gave his friend one more look
and then looked down at the fish.

“What’s wrong?” asked Joe.

“I can’t sell this fish.
I’ll be filleted down at the market. Not everyone will be as understanding as
you.”

“I see. You’ve got a
problem.”

Mr. Ito nodded and looked
up, “Joe, I need a favor.”

Joe looked at his friend
with a bit of suspicion. “What do you need?”

Mr. Ito took a deep breath
and said, “I can’t sell this fish, but it’s a good catch. I’ll give you the
entire haul for half of what you think is fair if you can pay me right now in
cash.”

Joe thought about it as he
stared at the fresh fish. Like many other fishermen, he didn’t have a chance to
go out to fish the day before because of the breaking news. He rubbed his chin.
“You don’t have to do that,” he replied. “I’ll take the load off of your back
and sell it for you and split it evenly with you.”

Mr. Ito firmly offered his
hand. For a moment, Joe hesitated but shook Mr. Ito’s hand. For the next hour,
under the cover of a dwindling dawn, they worked to offload the fish onto Joe’s
truck. Joe told Mr. Ito that he would drop by later that day with the money.

Mr. Ito went into the
captain’s quarters and found a can of paint and a paintbrush. He then walked to
the stern of the boat and straddled it. The bottom of the paint can hit the
wooden rail with a thud, as the hollow echo of the can emanated from it just as
the thin wire handle swung forward and gently hit the other side of the paint
can. He set the paintbrush in front of the paint can as he brandished his pocketknife,
which he used to carefully pry open the lid, ripping apart the dried paint that
had formed a seal around the edges of the can.

He tilted the paint can
toward him and saw that it was about a third full. He quickly stirred the paint
with the paintbrush and gathered just enough paint onto the brush. He leaned
over the back of the boat and looked down at the name of the boat:
Mayumi
.
He had named his seaworthy boat after his wife.

For a moment, he paused as
the paint from the brush began to ooze down and collect into bulbs at the
brush’s tips. Heartache had lodged itself in his chest and in that private
moment, where it was just he and his boat, he could feel the agitated warmth
gathering in the lower part of his eyelids. He inhaled heavily through his
nose, clearing his thoughts, as he looked up solemnly toward the cloudy horizon
in silent reflection.

When Mr. Ito first came to
the United States, he took up odd jobs to make ends meet. It was a real
struggle for him and his new wife back then. She had courageously followed him
across an entire ocean to be with the man who swept her off her feet with his
cavalier attitude. Many other Japanese men who came over to America took up
farming to make a livelihood. Japanese immigrants could never own the lands
that they farmed. The tracts of land that they did farm were usually discounted
as infertile by white farmers. But through perseverance alone, they turned
those tracts of land into fertile land, yielding all types of crops. Mr. Ito
worked as a farmhand, but it wasn’t the life he wanted.

He worked hard for a few
years, with his wife at home to take care of Minami when she was born. He had
saved his money carefully and when he could, he bought a fishing boat. It was a
second-hand boat, maybe even third-hand judging from the condition it was in
when he first showed it off to his wife. Mrs. Ito could only frown as the boat
bobbed up and down weakly along the dock. Paint was peeling everywhere from the
hull and the deck boards were weathered gray and black, almost to the point of
rotting. It stalled constantly and smoke drifted out of the engine room. But
Mr. Ito didn’t seem to mind. His excitement could not be contained. He simply
slapped the side of the boat and proudly exclaimed, “She’s got a good strong
frame. She’ll be seaworthy once I’m through with her.”

Mr. Ito worked night and
day on the boat. He first gutted the little fishing trawler, removing every vestige
of grime and dirt. He replaced every weak board along the hull, ripped up the
rotted deck boards, and laid down new ones. He refitted the engine and the
navigational instruments, many of which he restored himself. Mrs. Ito still had
no idea how her husband had learned to fix navigational instruments. But that’s
what she admired about him: his ingenuity and resourcefulness. Toward the end
of its restoration, he sanded down everything and gave it a gleaming new coat
of paint. Where he could afford to, he placed brass fixtures, his favorite
being the boat’s bell.

When the boat was finally
ready, Mr. Ito led his wife to the boat while covering her eyes. When he uncapped
his hands from her eyes, she saw before her not the sickly derelict of a boat
that he brought home a few weeks before, but a gleaming white boat. Its windows
were shiny and clear, the rails brightly stained, and its brass fixtures shone
in the afternoon sun. It looked ready to ride through anything the ocean could
throw at it.

As Mrs. Ito brought her
hands up to her mouth in surprise, Mr. Ito saw the genuine astonishment in his
wife’s eyes. He spun around to face her, gave her a smile and indicated with
his index finger, “Hold onto that look for one more second.”

Mrs. Ito was sharing a very
proud moment in her husband’s life and she knew that he wanted her to be a part
of it. He hopped into his newly reincarnated boat, went into the captain’s
quarter and brought out a bottle of the cheapest champagne that he could find.
He jumped back onto the dock and brought Mrs. Ito over to the back of the boat.
Painted on the backside of the boat was her name:
Mayumi
.