Island Of Sweet Pies And Soldiers. Sara Ackerman

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      “Just you wait. You’re going to love him.” He glanced at Ella. “You, too, Ella.”

      At the sound of her name, Ella perked up, but still regarded her drawing instead of Zach.

      “Please do! Oh, Zach, I’m so happy to see you. You look well,” Jean said.

      He placed his hat back on and bent his grasshopper legs to bring him level with Ella. “And maybe I’ll get to see that buttercat for real next time.”

      Ella looked at the floor.

      * * *

      Later in the evening, Violet peered through the window at Setsuko’s house down the hill. Lights were out, which wasn’t surprising, since lights were always out. She debated walking down to see if anyone was still awake. There was no excuse for being out past ten unless on official business, and she didn’t want to get shot by the guards set up at the school entrance. Curfew was taken seriously. Even still, their houses were on campus, and she would be only a thin shadow against the backs of houses.

      “I’m going to walk down to Setsuko’s. Can you keep an eye on Ella?” she asked Jean.

      “Now?”

      If there was one thing in the world she wanted, it was for Ella to come alive again. “I need to ask.” After all, why not Japanese school? It couldn’t hurt to have Ella learning Japanese customs and language, especially living in a blended town like theirs.

      Jean gave her one of her teacher looks, and planted her hands on her hips. “Wait until tomorrow.”

      “Don’t worry. I’ll be back soon.”

      She sneaked around back and padded down the pathway, following a thin trail of moonlight. Voices floated in and out from darkened windows along the way, and radios sent their noise into the black air. Everything seemed so desperately regular, except for the fact that she had to sneak to her friend’s house in the cover of night. There would be no sleeping until she talked to Takeo.

      From the road up to the school, the hum of an engine grew louder. Why hadn’t she accounted for headlights in planning her route? A beam of brilliant light shot across her path as a truck came over the hill. She pressed herself behind a tree, cursing her hips for not being slimmer. But the truck continued on toward the gym. A few minutes passed without another truck.

      Outside the house, she hesitated. A knock at the door might cause alarm, but it was too late now. A radio played in the kitchen, and she tapped on the door, while at the same time whispering through the screen. “Setsuko, it’s Violet.”

      The radio turned down and feet shuffled. Silence filled the house.

      “It’s Violet,” she said again, this time louder.

      The door opened and she was pulled into the dark living room by strong hands. “What are you doing here?” Setsuko asked. She wore a rice-bag kimono. Her hair, which usually coiled on her shoulders in permed waves, was now pinned up. Violet smelled seaweed on her breath.

      Takeo stood behind Setsuko and nodded to the kitchen. A hint of light seeped out from under the door.

      She had to work up the nerve for her request. “Did you sell a lot of sweet potato in Waimea?”

      Takeo squinted his already narrow eyes. He knew her too well. “Is that what you came here for, Violet? To ask me that?”

      Not much taller than she was, he was strong enough to carry a whole bushel of cane on his back. As a Nisei, he had both feet planted firmly in Hawaii. What Violet loved about him was that he spent more time listening than talking.

      “I have a favor to ask of you,” she said.

      “Go.”

      “Ella wants to come to Japanese school.”

      For a moment, everything in the room seemed to be listening. The crickets outside quieted and the wind hushed. Setsuko coughed.

      “I don’t understand,” he said, throwing a hard glance at his wife.

      “My daughter wants to attend your school. As a student.”

      His eyebrows lifted and he stood there barefoot and unsmiling.

      “Please, Takeo. I need this favor.” An uneasy feeling welled up in her stomach. She worried he would say no. Ella rarely asked for much, and Violet wanted to give her this.

      “Bring her by day after tomorrow.”

      * * *

      In the morning, Violet sat at the bureau, readying for school and applying cover-up to her lower lids. The blue of her once-bright eyes had rubbed off sometime in the past year. She only hoped her pink lipstick made up for the lost color. Worse than that, the waves in her latest permanent were falling out and her honey-colored hair now stood stiff like straw.

      Last night after talking with Setsuko, she had tried counting convoy trucks to help her fall asleep. That hadn’t worked. Jean said maybe it was the grape juice cans rolled in her hair that caused the insomnia, but Violet suspected it was more likely from thinking about things over and over. And over. There were so many layers to her grief. While Ella had a perpetual stomachache, Violet was prone to a perpetual heartache.

      Jean was already in the kitchen banging pots around when Violet walked in. “Bad sleep?” she asked.

      Violet nodded. Jean always looked fresh from the beauty parlor, not one hair out of place and as though someone had smoothed coconut oil over each strand. Even first thing in the morning. When they had first moved in together, Violet was unsure how two strong-willed women would get along under the same roof. It hadn’t taken long for her to realize that having Jean around was like having her very own wife. On some mornings, coffee was already made, banana pancakes already piled high on a plate, still steaming. And Jean knew how to scour a kitchen clean.

      When Ella joined them at the table, dark smudges under her eyes were visible. Though she never complained about being tired, surely the nightmares had taken their toll. “Where’s Snowflake?” she asked.

      “She must be outside hunting for mice,” Violet said.

      Ella left her bowl of cornflakes and walked to the front door.

      “Pumpkin, you need to eat before Hiro and Umi come for you.”

      Ella’s voice cut through the morning stillness. “Snowflake!”

      Snowflake didn’t show up, but two other striped cats arrived on the porch and rubbed up against Ella’s legs. She sat to pet them, leaving her breakfast unattended. Cats were more important than food and water, and Violet prayed that Snowflake really was out hunting for mice.

      “Your cereal is getting soggy. Come on up and eat.” Violet looked at the clock. The Hamasu kids were never late and she wondered what was keeping them. The twins were Ella’s only friends these days, and the more she was around them, the better.

      Ella remained in a fur huddle and acted like she didn’t hear. Violet stuffed an extra ball of rice into Ella’s lunch tin, then pulled her daughter СКАЧАТЬ