Toward Night's End (2 page)

When he got to the rear of truck, Matthew saw that the big, bearded man was fumbling through the keys, clearly frustrated by the choice of over a dozen keys when all he wanted was the one for the padlock securing the two cargo doors. The leader shoved the gun barrel into Matthew’s back and barked, “Open it.”

The bearded man lobbed the keys toward Matthew, who felt lucky to catch them. He toyed with the idea of flinging them over the ravine, knowing it would be hours before they’d find them, if that. He flipped through the keys, stalling for time, and having no idea what he should do. It was probably midnight now, and in just under twelve hours, he was to be on the Keholoken ferry, leaving Bainbridge Island for Seattle. Then he would be transported to an internment camp.

He didn’t know where. No Japanese-American did, really. There were just rumors. All kinds of rumors. He thought of his mother. So stoic. Packing what the government had said they could take. And his little brother and sister. His sister – too young to really appreciate what was happening. And his brother – just upset that he wouldn’t be able to continue school or see his friends. What did he care that the Japanese had attacked Pearl Harbor? It had nothing to do with him. Or so he thought. However, Matthew knew better.

He finally decided his best chance of survival was to do what these men wanted. Finding the correct key, he slipped it into the lock and removed it from the door latch. For his cooperation, Matthew was whacked over the head with something extremely hard. He found himself on his knees, pain radiating down the right side of his body. He thought how odd that sensation was. He could hear one cargo door swing open and wondered what these men would do when they found the body. A bloody body that Matthew had had no choice but to throw into the truck. Just then he was struck again from behind, and this time there was no pain. Everything just went black.

What amazed Lieutenant Donald Bollgen the most was the way they were dressed. There were nearly 200 of them, yet all of them wore their finest clothes, under long coats because the March air was still quite cold. The women in elegant dresses, sheer hosiery and smart leather shoes. The men wore perfectly pressed suits, fedora hats, expertly knotted neckties, and meticulously shined shoes. Even the children were in their Sunday best.

“About fifty more on the way,” called out Private Shilling.

“Right,” answered Donald. Of course, no one had told him to keep any kind of count. His captain had simply instructed him to stand guard on the dock, making sure none of the evacuees tried to resist in any way. Earlier that morning, the captain had warned that one or two might try to jump off the dock and swim under it, hiding from the soldiers. Should that happen, their instructions were to secure their weapons and jump in the water too, bringing back any wayward individuals. But it had been just the opposite – all the Japanese-Americans had been extremely polite and calm. A few had shed tears as they stoically made their way down the dock toward the ferry, but, to a person, they all seemed quietly resigned to their fate.

“Lieutenant Bollgen, what’s your status?” asked his captain over the radio. Donald unbuckled his radio from his belt. “I’m at the dock, as ordered, sir,” he replied. There was no immediate acknowledgment, so he added, “Got about fifty more to go, sir.”

Still nothing. Then, “You know the Kobata family?”

Donald was surprised. “Yes, sir. Went to high school with Matthew. Eh, the oldest son, sir. Matthew Kobata.”

Again, there was no reply for what seemed like an eternity. Why would his captain be asking about the Kobatas? Donald had wanted to be one of the officers assigned to a family. That way he could’ve driven a Jeep to pick them up and bring them to the dock. Instead, he was in charge of six privates guarding the boarding area. It had been boring. And depressing. He had seen many familiar faces and couldn’t look any of them in the eye.

The radio crackled with static. Then his captain said, “I need you at the Kobata house, Bollgen. ASAP.”

“Roger, sir,” Donald eagerly responded. He shoved the radio into its holster and jogged toward the street, fighting against dozens of Japanese residents heading resolutely to the waiting ferry. But when he got to the street, he realized that the Kobata house was on the other side of the island. It would take hours to get there on foot. He was about to pull out his radio to ask his captain how he should get there when he saw an open-air Jeep unloading a family of five – two adults and three children. Dressed exquisitely, of course, as if all the Japanese on the island had gotten together and decided that, if they had to go to an internment camp, they would go with their heads held high and wear nothing but the best.

Donald hurried up to the Jeep. A small boy stood on the backseat, unsure what to do. Donald lifted him out, gently setting him on the ground. “There you go,” Donald said to the boy with a smile.

“Thank you, thank you very much,” the boy’s mother politely responded.

A corporal was removing their luggage from the Jeep. His uniform had his name stitched over the front pocket. It read “Jenkins.”

Once the family and their belongings were out of the Jeep, Donald turned to Jenkins. “I need this transport. Orders to get over to the other side of the island. ASAP.”

“I’ll drive you.”

“I know how to drive, Corporal,” Donald curtly replied.

“I have orders not to leave this Jeep, sir. No matter what.”

Donald had half a mind to argue, since he clearly out-ranked Jenkins, but then he changed his mind. Jenkins was just following orders, as was he.

“Drive then,” Donald told him, hopping into the passenger seat.

***

The Kobata’s small, two-story house sat on a small rise, overlooking the sea and a small, rickety dock where an old fishing boat was tied up. Donald had never known Matthew very well. They were the same age, but Matthew tended to hang out mostly with fellow Japanese-Americans. He remembered when Matthew had to drop out of school just before the end of their senior year, just over three years ago now. His father had been killed in a car accident, and Matthew had taken over the family’s fishing business. He had heard that Matthew was very bitter about his circumstances – apparently he had saved money and planned to go to college somewhere.

A private first class by the name of Hines was sitting on the front steps as they pulled up, and he jumped to his feet when he saw them. Donald still had no idea why he had been called out here. He thought his captain would get back on the radio and give him a heads-up, which would have been logical, but as Donald was learning, that wasn’t the way the Army did things.

“What’s the problem, Private?” Donald asked as he climbed out of the Jeep.

“I was assigned this family. Supposed to pick them up at Oh-800 sharp,” Private Hines explained. He glanced at his watch. “I was on time, but they said to wait and—”

“Who? Who told you to wait?”

Hines shrugged. “A woman.” He unfolded a paper that he seemed to remember was tightly clutched in his hand. “A Mrs. Kobata.”

Donald was surprised. “They’re supposed to be ready at the appointed time.”

“I know, I know. But, you know, I thought they had just a few more things to pack.”

“What happened?”

“I waited. Gave them about fifteen. Then I knocked on the door, told them we had to go, but she insisted we had to wait. Her son isn’t here, I guess.”

“Matthew?”

Hines looked chagrined. “I dunno.”

Donald was already exasperated. “Let me see the registry slip.”

Hines handed it over. It listed Ido Kobata, age 72. Must be Matthew’s grandfather. Kumiko Kobata, age 45. The mother. Then it had Matthew, age 21, Daniel, age 14, and Julia, age 8.

Hines was saying, “They won’t come out. She locked the door. I tried it.”

Donald stepped around the private and rapped on the door. He had never met Matthew’s family and now he was glad. He had already recognized too many fellow students and their parents heading down the dock. Of course, he knew the government was doing the right thing. All the people of Japanese descent had to be moved inland so that they couldn’t help guide Japanese bombers to the coastal areas. No one wanted a Pearl Harbor in California, Oregon, or Washington.

There was no response to his knock. He tried to peek in the nearby window, but a thin lace curtain effectively blocked his view.

“Maybe they went out the back,” Jenkins proposed. Donald shot him a look. He hadn’t thought of that. He knocked on the door again. Hard.

“Mrs. Kobata? My name is Donald. Donald Bollgen. I went to high school with Matthew.”

Hines and Jenkins exchanged looks. They had no idea the lieutenant was a local. Donald used his fist and pounded on the door. “Mrs. Kobata, I can break the door down if I have to.”

“Go! Matthew not home yet, you must go!” a shrill voice sounded above him.

Donald looked up to see Mrs. Kobata leaning out of the upstairs window. He stepped back so he could have a better angle.

“We’ll pick up Matthew later, okay?”

“No!” she hissed. “We do as told. We register as a family. We will go away, yes. But as family. When Matthew comes, we go. Together. As family.”

“You have to go now, Mrs. Kobata,” Donald softly explained. “We’ll make sure Matthew catches up with you. You’ll all be at the same relocation center, you don’t have to worry.”

“Go, I say! Go!” Mrs. Kobata barked before pulling down the window with a deafening thud. A moment later a curtain was pulled across the pane.

Hines nervously looked at Donald. Finally, he blurted out, “She said she has a gun. Before you got here. She said she has a gun.”

“I’m sure she does,” grumbled Donald as he headed back to the Jeep. Staring at the house, he gave a tired sigh. He knew the protocol to follow. He just hated to do it.

***

“I’m hungry,” she heard Ido complain in Japanese. Kumiko was beyond tired. Which was surprising considering she had slept well the night before. She hadn’t thought she would. After all, she was being forced to leave her home. The home all three of her children had been born in. And her island. She had been awakened before six that morning by Mr. Porter knocking loudly on the door.

“Mrs. Kobata! Mrs. Kobata!” he had shouted.

She had quickly risen from her bed, grabbing her robe and securing it around her thin waist with the tie. Opening the front door, she had seen Mr. Porter’s face twisted with rage.

“Where is he?” Porter demanded.

“Asleep,” Kumiko had answered softly.

“Get him! Now!”

Kumiko nodded subserviently and silently closed the door. She had gone upstairs and looked in the room Matthew shared with Daniel. But she was stunned to find only Daniel in his bed. Asleep. Matthew’s bed had been made up properly, the way she insisted all the children do upon rising each morning. A cold chill ran through her. Matthew had been in an accident, just like his father. That was the only explanation.

She had gone to her room and dressed. A minute later she’d opened the front door again. Porter anxiously approached.

“Where is he?”

“He not come home last night,” she’d whispered. “He been in accident.”

“An accident? With my truck!?”

“Why else he no come home?”

“I’m thinking he stole it. Didn’t want to go to the camps.”

“No, Matthew no do that,” she defensively corrected him. “He know we have to go. He planning on it. I have to call hospitals. Maybe he in hospital.” But Porter just stared at her. Finally, he nodded.

“Let’s go,” he said, heading for his small pickup truck. Kumiko followed.

Ten minutes later they were inside Porter’s small kitchen. Unlike the Kobatas, he had a private telephone, which she imagined was a great convenience. Porter had dialed the hospital and asked if any Japanese-Americans had been brought in during the last twenty-four hours. No. Relief flooded over Kumiko. He hadn’t been in a car accident. Unless, of course, no one had seen the accident and he was somewhere on the island, hurt, in need of medical attention.

“We go now. Look for him,” she’d announced.

“Look where?” Porter asked impatiently.

“He on island. Not that big. We find him.”

“For all we know, he’s on the mainland somewhere.”

Kumiko had been taken aback. “If Matthew okay, he come home. He no home, so something happen. We look, yes?”

“Fine, come on,” Porter had said, heading out the door. Again, she followed.

***

She had shivered involuntarily when she and Mr. Porter had arrived at the ferry dock at half past six that morning. There were military personnel everywhere, clearly getting ready for the forced evacuation that would take place later that day. “Why we here?” she’d asked as she hurried to catch up with Porter who was walking briskly to the dock office.

“No choice. They never answer the phones,” he said.

Kumiko felt awkward, the only Japanese-American on the dock. She could feel eyes piercing right through her, but she kept pace with Porter and kept her eyes downcast. Luckily, when they got to the office there was only one man there. He was young, with short blond hair, and wore a heavy coat. The man had only been on the job for a month, so he didn’t know all the locals yet. But he soon would. He was looking over some papers when Porter barged in, Kumiko right on his heels. The man looked up, surprised. “Yeah?”

“I’m missing a cargo truck. Fifteen footer. Think maybe it was stolen—”

“Not stolen!” Kumiko interrupted fiercely.

“Should’ve come back from the mainland,” Porter went on, ignoring her outburst. “Some time after nine last night.”

“Yeah,” the man had casually said. “Last ferry over.”

“You saw it?”

“Yeah.”

“You talk to the driver?”

“The Jap?” he asked, as if Kumiko wasn’t there. “Nah. He looked a little tweaked. Spent some time in the bathroom. Sick, maybe.”

Kumiko had been relieved, but worried at the same time. She had been right. He was still on the island. But then her stomach was knotted as she thought about Matthew being sick. They had to find him. “We drive around now,” she told Porter.