Beside a Burning Sea

DAY NINE
The past comes to me
Like a shadow to its source.
Where is the monsoon?
Longing for Dreams


The tide was rising. Jake had noticed how the harbor swelled and the beach shrank each morning. To him, it seemed that the two entities were in a never-ending war over territory. The sea and beach fought the same way that night and day fought—a patient, hopeless struggle for domination of space.
Following Ratu into deeper water, Jake held his spear aloft. Despite their prowess as hunters, the two friends hadn’t been able to spear many fish the previous day. The drying rack they’d built wasn’t even halfway full. Knowing that Joshua depended on him, and that he was failing his commanding officer, Jake had asked Ratu if they could fish in deeper water, where bigger fish might linger.
“I tell you, Big Jake, it’s much bloody harder to throw a spear into deep water,” Ratu said. “Aim lower than you think you need to because water will lift the spear up.”
“Ouch,” Jake muttered, as his toe stubbed against something hard and sharp.
“What did you say?”
“Oh, ain’t nothing worth repeating.”
“If I’m going to tell you things, mate, you need to listen. I do think I’m interesting, but I don’t just want to talk for myself. If I’m going to do that, I’ll talk about sports. Maybe about the greatest cricket players or something like that.”
“Don’t you worry none. I’ll aim lower. Or was it higher?”
“Bugger off, Big Jake. I don’t know what to do with you. I really don’t. Throw lower. Much lower.”
The water was up to Ratu’s belly and Jake’s thighs. To their right, birds circled over a series of ripples. Believing that large fish were feasting upon something near the surface, Ratu and Jake waded toward the ripples. Sure enough, a school of thousands of inch-long fish was being chased by a handful of much larger predators.
“Barracuda!” Ratu exclaimed, pointing at the long and narrow fish. “Their mouths are full of teeth, Big Jake. Be careful when you spear them or you’ll have an angry barracuda hanging from your leg. And the blood will bring his friends, and suddenly you’ll be little more than barracuda dinner. Once I saw—”
Eyeing a large barracuda that rose to the surface, Jake threw his spear quickly and with great force. The spear struck the fish right behind the head and skewered it completely, pinning it to the sand.
“Brilliant!” Ratu shouted. “What a cracking good shot! Your teacher must have been fantastic!”
“My teacher fancies his voice a heap more than his spear. I ain’t seen him hit a darn thing in two days.”
“Teachers can’t always do everything. And who’d do all the talking if I didn’t? This island, I tell you, would be a dull place if I left all the talking up to you.”
Jake chuckled, watching the bloody water for other barracuda. “Ever since those dolphins, you’ve been happier than a pigeon in a puddle.”
“You should have come with us, Big Jake. You definitely need to next time. What bloody marvelous fun it was. And I want to introduce you to Ratu Junior.”
“Does he prattle on as much as you?”
“Probably more.”
“Then I’ll pass, thank you kindly.”
“Oh, put a sock in it, Big Jake. You’d bore him anyway.”
“I reckon he’d—” Jake stopped, his words dying as a large shark swept into view, heading straight for the twitching barracuda. “Behind you!”
Ratu spun in the water, leaping out of the way of the shark, which tore into the fish. The water immediately turned a deeper shade of crimson. The shark’s top fin and tail emerged from the sea as it consumed the barracuda. Ratu started to flee for the beach, but seeing that the shark was occupied with its meal, he stepped forward, raising his spear.
“No!” Jake shouted. “Head straight ashore. Now!”
Wishing that his father could see him, Ratu edged closer to the bloody water. The shark, which was about six feet long, was having a hard time consuming the part of the barracuda that was pinned to the seafloor.
“Leave him be!” Jake shouted.
Ratu didn’t hear his friend. He wanted a tooth from the shark so much that his senses were entirely focused on the churning water. He saw the broad back of the shark’s head emerge from the sea, and remembered where his father had told him to strike. The shark thrashed, banging the spear that held the barracuda in place. The spear started to fall. The shark turned in Ratu’s direction. It came at him.
Ratu raised his arm back as far as possible and then stepped forward with his left foot, twisting his body to the left, heaving the spear with all his might. The spear struck the shark just behind its gills, driving deep into the creature. But the shark didn’t die and swam madly in a circle, like a kitten chasing its own tail. Ratu stepped away from the predator, his heel striking a mass of coral, which sent him tumbling backward. The shark bumped into his legs, its rough skin scratching him. Ratu tried to crawl away but the red water seemed to boil over him. Then he saw Jake wrench his spear from the barracuda and drive it into the shark’s head, drive it so hard and deep that the shark was suddenly pinned to the seafloor.
Jake grabbed Ratu’s hand and pulled him toward the beach. About to shout at Ratu for being so rash, he had to stop himself when Ratu wrapped his arms around him. Jake carried him to the sand, where they sat and watched the shark slowly die. Though Ratu trembled, he didn’t seem overwhelmed with terror, which surprised Jake.
“A coconut for them thoughts?” Jake finally asked, massaging an ache in his right shoulder.
Ratu slowly looked up from the water. “The shark. It didn’t . . . it didn’t want to die.”
“No, I expect it didn’t.”
Ratu nodded absently. After a few dozen heartbeats of silence, he turned to Jake. “Have you ever killed a man?”
“No.”
“Is it like that, you think?”
“I reckon it’s something like that. And then some, I’m sure.”
Ratu nodded again. “I don’t ever want to kill a man, Jake. I won’t have to, will I? No one will send me to kill a man?”
Jake sighed, unsure of how to respond. Finally, he said, “I expect when you’re old enough to be sent for, you’ll be old enough to decide. And if you don’t want to do it, well, then, ain’t no need to do it.”
“I won’t. I won’t ever do it.”
The shark finally stopped twitching. “That was one tough fellow,” Jake said.
“Will we have enough food?”
“What?”
“After we cut him up, will we have enough food?”
“Yes, I suspect so.”
“Good. Then I think . . . I think I’ll take a break from fishing.”
Jake put his arm around Ratu. “Now that we got a tooth for your father, we can get to finding them shells.”
“That would be good, Big Jake.”
Jake gently blew on Ratu’s knee, which had been scraped raw by the shark’s rough skin. “Maybe, Ratu, maybe that old shark done told you something.”
“What do you mean?”
“I reckon you know.”
Ratu moved Jake’s arm aside and stood. “Big Jake?”
“Yes?”
“I still want the tooth. But it’s not for me. It’s for my father.”
Jake rose, patted Ratu on the back, and then waded into the water. “Well, then, I reckon we’d best get busy.”

LATER, WITH STRIP upon strip of shark meat drying in the sun, the survivors gathered at the base of the banyan tree. Eyeing all the food, Joshua nodded appreciatively toward Jake and Ratu. “We certainly picked the right hunters.”
“Ratu gets the credit, Captain,” Jake replied, nudging the boy. “It ain’t healthy to have fins around these parts.”
“Well, I’m awfully glad you got the shark instead of the other way around.”
Jake removed a stem from his mouth. “That makes three of us, Captain.”
“How long,” Joshua asked, “do you think it will take to dry?”
“In this sun? I reckon three or four days should darn near do it.”
Joshua glanced at the drying rack. “As soon as it’s ready we’ll wrap it in leaves, pile it in the lifeboat, and then all head toward the cave. Some of us will row, and others will walk.”
Scarlet scratched at a fresh mosquito bite. “Is the cave really going to be better than the beach? Maybe we should just stay here. If we’re here and one of our ships passes, we can easily signal it.”
“We can signal a ship from almost anywhere,” Joshua responded, stooping to pull a thorn from his ankle. “Believe me, the cave’s not only safer, it’s much more comfortable. Like I said before, there aren’t many bugs, for starters.”
“No bugs and built-in air-conditioning,” Isabelle added.
“Really?” Scarlet asked.
“Like you’re in some fancy hotel.”
“Let’s keep cleaning up this area,” Joshua said. “When we leave, the place needs to look like no one’s ever set foot here. Our charts are probably the same as the Japanese charts. And our charts say the island’s deserted. No reason to give anyone any idea to think otherwise.”
“So for three days, sir, we just do what we’ve been doing?” Nathan asked, standing deep in the shade, as he was still recovering from a bad case of sunburn.
“I don’t see any reason why—” Joshua stopped talking when he saw Akira suddenly rise and step toward the beach. Akira said something in Japanese and pointed beyond the harbor. A gray dot marred the sea, breaking up the flat horizon. Joshua grabbed the binoculars from where they hung from a branch.
“Is it American?” Roger asked abruptly, his mind reeling with the problems that such a ship would pose to him.
“Yes, yes,” Scarlet added. “Is it ours? Oh, please let it be one of ours!”
Joshua adjusted the binoculars until the ship came into focus. The vessel had two smokestacks and bristled with heavy guns. On its gray side were white markings of some kind. “A Jap destroyer,” Joshua said, his heart racing. “But why . . . why is she all alone? She’s a sitting duck.”
Akira moved to Joshua and politely asked if he could use the binoculars. Joshua nodded, and Akira quickly located the destroyer. He looked at the name on the side and said, “Akebono.”
“What?” Joshua asked.
“So sorry. Daybreak is the ship’s name,” Akira replied, handing back the binoculars.
“I wonder what she’s doing here,” Joshua said, again eyeing the ship, which wasn’t under way and seemed to just sit atop the water. Though the destroyer was several miles away and didn’t pose an imminent threat, Joshua felt unnerved, as the Japanese often used destroyers to protect troop transport ships or aircraft carriers. Typically, Japanese destroyers traveled in groups of three or four and shielded more important ships from plane and submarine attacks. As far as Joshua knew, a lone destroyer was a highly unusual sight.
“Why is she all by herself?” he asked Akira. As Akira again looked through the binoculars, Joshua wondered if he was wise to trust Annie’s rescuer.
“She has recently been fighting,” Akira replied.
Joshua nodded. “I saw the damage to her superstructure.”
“She could be conducting repairs, yes? Hiding in these islands and doing repairs?”
“Or she could be waiting to rendezvous with other ships. It just doesn’t make sense for her to be so isolated out here.” Joshua felt a tap on his shoulder and was surprised to see Annie beside him.
“May I look?” she asked.
“Of course.”
Annie refocused the binoculars and let out a small gasp when she saw the ship in full detail. She was used to the innocuous lines of Benevolence and not the long guns that dominated the Japanese destroyer. The ship gave her the chills. “It’s so . . . menacing,” she said softly, handing the binoculars to Joshua.
Knowing that the Japanese had more than one hundred such ships, Joshua scanned the horizon for other visitors, but saw nothing else but the distant islands. “She’s all alone,” he said, still bewildered.
Roger asked for the binoculars and took in the full view of Akebono. He knew that the Japanese would take the island by force, and suspected that his foe was correct. The destroyer had arrived early and was repairing the damage to its superstructure while waiting to escort a troop ship through these shallow and dangerous waters. “The Nip’s right about the repairs,” he said, delighted that he’d soon be off the island, and envisioning the cigarettes he’d smoke and the women he’d dominate. “I bet she’ll be gone in a few days.”
By now the entire group had gathered around Joshua, and everyone took turns looking through the binoculars. Annie wondered how the Japanese could call the ship Daybreak, finding it incomprehensible that anyone would compare such a machine of war to dawn. Isabelle methodically counted the large guns, committing the destroyer’s profile to memory. Nathan worried that the war would drag on until his son would someday be forced to fight such ships. And Ratu looked at Akebono so long that when he finally handed the binoculars back to Joshua, circles had formed around his eyes. “It looks like the shark,” he said, stepping closer to Jake.
“I don’t think this changes our plans,” Joshua said finally, addressing the group. “They can’t see us. Not if they don’t come closer and we’re careful with our fire.”
“What if they come ashore?” Scarlet asked.
“That ship wasn’t designed to carry large numbers of troops. Nobody is coming ashore.” Joshua let the binoculars hang from his neck, and for the first time no one asked for them. “But we need to keep a better eye on the horizon,” he said. “I think someone should stay put on one of the hills above us and watch to see if our visitor gets any companions.”
“I’ll do it,” Scarlet said almost immediately. Unlike most everyone on the island, she didn’t have anyone close to her with whom she could share her thoughts. For days she’d felt like an outsider, and she was tired of the feeling. She reasoned that at least if she were atop a hill she could be helpful.
“Are you sure?” Joshua asked.
She held out her hand, and he placed the binoculars within her grasp. “What do you want me to look for?”
“If that ships leaves, if she comes closer, people down here need to know. But we especially need to know if other ships appear. If that happens, please hurry down.” Joshua pointed to the hill that he’d climbed during his first day on the island. “It’s not a bad walk,” he said, “and it’s close.”
“Then that’s where I’ll be.”
After Joshua thanked her, Scarlet slung the binoculars around her neck and grabbed a full canteen and some bananas. She then headed into the jungle. Because of the bugs, she hadn’t spent much time beyond the beach, but she’d heard Isabelle say that the higher one got, the more wind prevailed and the less one had to worry about such airborne pests.
For the first time in several days, Scarlet felt a pulse of happiness as she entered the jungle. Though she hated the mud and the insects and the damp heat, she was eager to climb the hill and have the binoculars to herself. With the binoculars, she could keep her eye out for ships and could also watch the island’s colorful and varied birds. She’d been fascinated by these talkative creatures for several days, and they were about the only thing that prompted her to pause in obsessing about her brothers.
Scarlet had always enjoyed birds. One of her fondest memories was visiting Central Park with her grandmother and feeding pigeons. She’d participated in this ritual almost every Saturday afternoon for several years. Though hundreds of pigeons had always seemed to gather about them, Scarlet, like her grandmother, had her favorites and tried to give them extra bits of bread.
Wishing that her grandmother could see the island’s birds, Scarlet continued through the jungle, eyeing parrots and cockatoos. Even on the beach Scarlet had never seen the brilliant and varied plumage that she did now, and she was certain her grandmother would have thought this place to be a small slice of heaven. She’d have watched birds from dawn to dusk.
Though her grandmother had been dead for many years, Scarlet missed her, and memories of the pigeons were suddenly bittersweet. Her mood soured, as it often did on the island. The stress of being stranded and unable to hear about her brothers had started to affect her. She incessantly worried about her siblings, imagining how Rommel’s tanks might maim them. Such imaginings produced an anxiety that gripped her so tightly that the only way she could flee its grasp was to sleep. And even then, nightmares often plagued her—visions of her brothers’ lifeless eyes and torn bodies. Scarlet hoped that atop the hill she’d at least be able to temporarily forget such visions as she focused her binoculars on distant ships and birds.
The jungle was hard to navigate, but she moved forward steadily, like a patient eager to be rid of crutches. She flinched as giant cockroaches scurried beneath her or bats stretched their wings within shadowed havens above. Her pulse started to race, and she had a sudden desire to see the sun. But to her dismay, she couldn’t locate it through the jungle’s canopy.
Fortunately, the hill wasn’t far and she was soon climbing, soon free of the suffocating trees. Though the climb was relatively gentle, Scarlet continued to pace herself, pausing occasionally to wipe her sweaty brow. Upon reaching the summit, she sat atop a flat rock. The view felt liberating, as if she’d just been released from a cage and was gazing upon a world without bars. She could see most of the island and the sea beyond. The Japanese destroyer hadn’t moved. Lifting the binoculars, she looked for other ships but saw none. She then sipped some water and started searching for birds. At first she saw nothing of interest, but after focusing on the treetops, her world came alive. Birds of seemingly every size, shape, and color darted about the verdant canopy.
For the first time in two days, Scarlet smiled. She’d been right about this place, right about coming here. Perhaps this hill would be the sanctuary that she so desperately needed. Perhaps here she’d experience a sense of serenity that had avoided her by the beach.
An immense gray-and-white-feathered bird suddenly sailed into view from the sea. Scarlet followed it with the binoculars, marveling at how the bird didn’t even need to flap its wings to soar. She expected the creature to drop into the jungle, but instead it flew to a steep and rocky hill in the middle of the island. The bird landed amid a nest of driftwood, tucking its wings against its body.
Scarlet aimed the binoculars back and forth between the ship and the birds. And at least for this moment, with a breeze on her face and a new world to observe, she stopped thinking about Rommel and what his awful tanks might do to her brothers.

DEEP WITHIN THE JUNGLE, at the bottom of a gulley that ran between two rises, Roger carefully pushed his shovel into the earth. The shovel was his creation. He’d used the machete to chop a large tree branch until it somewhat resembled a canoe paddle. He’d then hardened the shovel with fire. Knowing that Joshua wanted him outside camp, Roger had said that he’d seen a wild boar and that he hoped to fashion a trap to catch it. Predictably, the captain had been delighted to send him away.
Roger had been digging for what he assumed to be several hours. His hands trembled as he dug, for he hadn’t savored a cigarette in days, and his body was in turmoil. The headache that assailed him had been growing in intensity since not long after he’d set foot on the island. It radiated forward from the back of his skull, and his eyes felt as if they’d pop from his head. Moreover, his heart often raced and his feet tingled. His throat even ached.
These maddening symptoms reminded Roger of living alone in Philadelphia at the peak of the Great Depression. Like so many others, he’d been jobless. Unlike most others, he’d thought the soup lines beneath him, and stole what food he could. Still, very few coins had rubbed together in his pockets, and he’d no money to spend on luxuries. Limiting himself to one cigarette a day had led to his first experience with the headaches.
For many years, Roger had hated the Japanese. But it wasn’t until returning to America and experiencing the Great Depression that his hate followed him across the ocean and spread like the plague within him. He quickly grew to detest America, to despise his country of birth for how it had failed him. He could still remember his father telling him and his mother that the banks had collapsed and what precious little money they’d saved was gone. His mother had wept quietly while his father shrugged and said that though the Devil was hard at work, God would see them through. Roger had thrown his father down at these words, sickened by his weakness and blind faith. He’d cursed the man and woman who’d brought him into the world. He’d screamed at them for all his pains and wants and memories. His spittle had struck his mother’s face. His booted foot had caused his father to beg for mercy. And he had seen neither parent since.
Now, as Roger dug deeper into the black soil, the temptation to climb the hill, uncover his box, and smoke cigarettes all afternoon was frighteningly powerful. He hadn’t felt so vulnerable since those unbearable months in Philadelphia, and his feebleness enraged him. If only he were alone on the island, as he was meant to be. Then he’d have a cigarette between his lips right now, drawing sweet smoke into his lungs and watching it disperse into the day.
Trying to ignore his cravings, Roger continued to work on his hole, pausing only to pull apart or smash insects that he uncovered. Such insects had tormented him during his stay on the island, and he found it gratifying to watch beetles try to walk with half their legs missing or centipedes writhe after he chopped them in two. These sights briefly obscured the ache behind his eyes, as they reminded him of how boys had struggled and squirmed after he’d hurt them.
The soil was quite soft, and if he labored with care he didn’t think he’d break his shovel. The hole was already as deep as his chest and as long as his outstretched arms—bigger than it needed to be to catch a wild boar. Working with determination—for his discomfort and anger gave him immense resolve—he continued to widen and deepen the pit.
Finally satisfied, Roger climbed from the hole. He closed his eyes for a few heartbeats, trying to ignore the throbbing pulse in his head by listening to the jungle. Its familiar cadence filled his ears and, knowing that no one was looking, he picked up the machete. With a backhanded strike he cut a sapling in half. He then made two-foot spikes out of the young tree. He felled a second sapling and a third, cutting them low enough to the ground that ferns hid whatever remained of their trunks. More spikes followed, their tips as sharp as possible.
Roger tossed the spikes into the hole and carefully climbed down, drops of sweat striking the torn earth. He used both hands to press the dull ends of the spikes into the ground, set no more than six inches apart. Anyone who fell into the hole would likely be impaled by at least ten spikes. Though Roger didn’t believe that he’d ever need the trap—after all, when the Japanese landed, he’d retrieve his gun—he liked having options. And if he was somehow forced to run, he could lead his adversary here.
As Roger worked, he held a slender, cigarette-shaped stick between his teeth and imagined Akira and Joshua chasing him through the jungle. He saw himself lead them into the gulley. He then jumped over the trap and, after rounding a nearby corner, grabbed a pair of spears. By the time he turned back to the trap, the Jap and the infuriating captain had already fallen into it. They were pierced in a dozen places and dying quickly. With no need to use his spears, he set them down, put his legs over the edge of the pit and listened to his enemies plead for mercy. He laughed, picked up several stones, and began to hurl the stones into their faces, killing them the same way criminals had been slain for thousands of years.
His breath quickening at the prospect of such a moment, Roger climbed from the pit and with his trembling fingers began to lay long and slender branches over it. Once he’d placed enough branches so that they were almost touching, he tossed leaves atop the branches. The gulley was covered in leaves and twigs, and Roger was easily able to replicate the look and feel of the jungle floor. Finally content with the concealment of his trap, he picked up a blood-colored boulder and set it next to his pitfall. He pretended to run and jump over the trap, repeating the sequence several times until he felt comfortable with how he’d recognize the rock and then leap over the hidden pit.
Carefully skirting the trap, Roger followed the gulley around a bend and hid a spear. Though this was the first such trap he’d created, he had already concealed a variety of weapons and supplies all over the island. Despite his assumption that it would be easy to find the Japanese once they’d landed and take them directly to the cave, he’d learned that in war anything was possible. Prudence demanded that he prepare for every contingency, and he believed he had.
Thinking about the cave, and how the idiot captain was convinced that it would protect everyone, Roger smiled for the first time all day. That cave will be the fool’s tomb, he thought excitedly. He’ll hide in it like a coward, hide with that annoying, know-it-all bitch of his. He’ll think he’s safe, but I’ll lead Edo’s men straight to his door. I’ll tell him that the women can go free, and when the skirts come out, we’ll open fire on the men. They’ll burn and scream and they’ll never leave that worthless cave. And when those maggots are dying, I’ll let them know what will happen to their whores.
Pleased with his trap and by thoughts of the future, Roger decided that he’d reward himself with a cigarette. As he had several days before, he’d climb to his secret stash, strip off his clothes to keep them free of smoke, enjoy several cigarettes, and later swim in the ocean and remove all scents but salt from him. If smoking presented a small risk, so be it. It was far better, he reasoned, to take a slight chance at discovery than to continue to suffer from an intolerable headache and to have the trembling hands of an old man.
Making his way through the jungle, his mind euphoric over the prospect of his reward, Roger again thought about what the near future would bring. In less than a week, he said to himself, I’ll have everything I want, everything I’ve worked for. I’ll have it because I’m smarter and stronger than anyone else on the island. And though now they laugh at me and hate me and I can’t do a goddamn thing about it, soon enough they’ll know that I betrayed them, that I sold their souls, and they’ll understand that I won. And when they look into my eyes before they die, when their pain’s so great that they beg for an end, I’ll drag them to the sea and let the waves wash them away.
ANNIE WASN’T USED to walking the beach alone, having spent most of her time on the island with Isabelle or Akira. And though she didn’t need constant companionship or distractions—as she sometimes thought her sister did—creating poetry with Akira or talking with Isabelle about her baby had provided her with much-needed escapes. She’d initially told herself that she was fleeing nothing more than the horror of Benevolence sinking. But as the days passed, and she continued to seek diversions, she realized that she wasn’t running from the past, but from the future.
The future, after all, had been almost determined for her. She’d return from the war, marry Ted, bear and raise children, and spend the rest of her life playing tennis and bridge. That was the future that Ted saw, that he wanted. And to be fair, at one time she’d wanted that future as well. It had seemed safe and decent. But not long after Ted had proposed, Annie started to have misgivings. She’d started to panic.
As Annie walked down the beach, she tried to remember the good times she’d experienced with Ted. Almost immediately, she reflected on how easily he could make her laugh. No one had ever prompted her laughter like Ted, and the many smiles he put on her face endeared her to him from their very first date. After the seriousness of her childhood, it felt so wonderful to laugh. And the discovery that laughter could temporarily obscure difficult memories had been extremely cathartic.
To Ted’s credit, he clearly enjoyed provoking her laughter. Her smile made him smile, and he seemed happiest when she was grinning because of something he’d said. In this way, he did his best to encourage her to forget her past, to enjoy the present. In this way, he succeeded in giving her bliss. At times she laughed so hard with him that she felt as if she were once again a little girl, giggling at her puppy’s antics.
Ted also treated her parents well. He smoked pipes with her father and complimented her mother on her cooking. And Ted came from money. He’d once shown Annie the house he had already purchased for them. Though she’d hoped for something quaint and cozy, he’d bought a large, ranch-style home on twenty acres of land. He’d get her a horse, he promised, so that she could ride alongside him.
Annie had slowly come to realize that to Ted, life was a series of great adventures. In some ways, he reminded her of Fitzgerald’s Gatsby, for Ted loved to hunt, to fly, to host lavish parties, to buy the latest cars. He’d been a strong advocate of America joining the war in Europe, even while the vast majority of his countrymen argued that one world war was enough. When the Japanese had attacked Pearl Harbor, Annie thought Ted to be actually happy, for suddenly the nation had no choice but to join in the fight against fascism. Like Roosevelt, Ted would finally get his way.
The last time Annie had seen Ted was in New York. He’d been granted a week of leave, and with only a day’s notice, she’d packed up and taken a train from California. They’d met in his hotel’s bar, and he told her all that he’d done during his time in Europe. She’d heard of how he had been one of a handful of American pilots to help the Royal Air Force engage the Luftwaffe during the Battle of Britain. He’d flown mission after mission over a burning and shuddering London, attacking the Luftwaffe with great success. He’d been shot down once but was hardly scratched.
When Ted had finally finished regaling her with tales of his dog-fights, Annie had applauded his bravery and given him a present. The silver flask bore his initials and was filled with fine bourbon—which she knew he loved. He’d smiled at her gift and though he hadn’t meant to hurt her, had told her how impractical it was for someone at war to carry such a flask. He had handed it to her and asked that she keep it. He’d then apologized for having nothing for her. Of course, she hadn’t minded the oversight. But she was bothered when a group of pilots he’d trained with stumbled into the hotel, sat down beside them, drank his bourbon, and took him by the arm and vanished from sight. When he’d returned four hours later, though she was already asleep in their room, her slumber hadn’t kept him from telling her amusing stories from the war, and from later undressing her with clumsy fingers and making love to her as if he were in some sort of race.
Will it always be this way with Ted? Annie wondered as she stepped around the bloated body of a dead lionfish. Yes, he could make her smile and occasionally warm her heart, but his ability to touch her beyond his humor and charm was limited. Parts of her existed that he would never fully understand. And this gulf between them troubled her even though its presence wasn’t his fault. She didn’t blame him, because their experiences were so different. After all, how could he grasp her fears if he’d never felt fear himself? How could he appreciate her uncertainty if he’d always stepped firmly on a path of his making?
Though Annie knew from Isabelle that marriage wasn’t perfect, she wanted more than laughter and children. She wanted true companionship. She wanted something beautiful.
Can Ted give me what I need? she asked herself as she walked back to camp. Yes, he can help me enjoy the moment. And he can please my parents and provide for me forever. But what can we teach each other? What’s going to bind us together when life isn’t so amusing?
Annie absently said hello to Nathan—who was using the airman’s dagger to finish a wooden carving that he’d been making for his daughter—and walked toward the banyan tree. Akira was sitting at his usual spot, picking meat from the bones of a burnt fish. Seeing him grimace as he ate, Annie was reminded of how her Japanese patients had occasionally asked if any raw fish was available.
An idea quickly blossoming within her, she walked farther down the beach, where Jake was spearfishing. Annie was surprised that Ratu was nowhere to be seen, as he often seemed to be Jake’s shadow. “Where’s the namesake of Ratu Junior?” she asked, smiling at the memory of swimming with Ratu and the dolphins.
Jake set his spear next to a large tuna that he’d killed and removed a stem from between his teeth. “That darn shark spooked him, miss. Spooked him like a rattlesnake rattles a horse. I reckon he’s looking for shells for his sisters. We already found a handful of them, but he wants an armful. I’d be with him, but the captain asked me to catch a few more fish in case people don’t fancy shark. So here I am.”
Glancing at the ocean, Annie saw that the Japanese destroyer hadn’t moved. “Are we sure they can’t see us?” she asked, suddenly frightened.
“Even with them binocs we can’t see much of that big boat, miss. They sure ain’t gonna be able to see us.”
Annie nodded, turning her gaze to the fish that Jake had speared. “May I have a piece of that, Jake? Do you need it all?”
“A piece, miss?”
“A piece of meat. Believe it or not, Japanese like to eat raw fish, and I thought Akira might enjoy some.”
Jake smiled, the gap between his front teeth somehow serving to make his other teeth appear even whiter. “I hear them Japs eat anything from the sea,” he said, using the machete to cut away several strips of cherry-colored meat. “Snakes and slugs. Things like that. I reckon I’d sooner eat my own foot than a raw fish.”
“Could you cut them even smaller?”
“I suspect so. Ain’t only one way to skin a cat, or in this case, a fish.”
“Perfect,” Annie said, holding out her hands.
“You wanna put it on something? Maybe a rock? A big old leaf?”
“A leaf. Yes, that’s a great idea, Jake.” Annie hurried to the edge of the jungle and quickly returned with a leaf the size of a cookie sheet.
“That’ll work real nice,” Jake said, carefully placing the cuts of tuna on the leaf.
When he finished, Annie put her hand on his arm. “Thanks, Jake. Thanks for everything you do around here.”
“Happy to help, miss. Ain’t much else to do anyhow.”
Annie thanked him again and, holding the leaf like a large platter, moved toward Akira. He’d risen and was stretching his muscles as he leaned against a palm tree. As usual, she instinctively glanced at his wound, which had completely closed up. Deciding that she’d remove the stitches the next day, she showed Akira the fish she’d brought. “You like raw fish, right?” she asked. “Don’t Japanese like raw fish?”
Akira eyed the sliced tuna. “You did this? For me?”
“I can put it away if you don’t want it. I didn’t know if—”
“No, no, no,” he said, bowing to her. He gestured for her to sit, carefully taking the leaf and lowering himself to the sand beside her. “A wonderful treat,” he said. “A wonderful treat that you have prepared for me. Thank you for your kindness.”
“Is this how you eat it? Just like this?”
He shook his head. “Usually we have some . . . sauce. But this is nearly the same. This is perfect, in fact.” She smiled and he asked, “Will you taste it with me?”
“Me?”
“Only if you care to.” Akira picked up one of the smallest pieces of fish and put it in his mouth. He closed his eyes, chewing slowly and methodically. “What delicious sashimi.”
“Sashimi?”
“Yes. When it is so fresh like that, it . . . dissolves into your tongue.”
Annie glanced at the platter before her. The meat was red and ragged, and the thought of eating it repulsed her. “I’ll try . . . one bite,” she said, selecting a sliver of fish. Before she could stop herself, she closed her eyes and set the meat in her mouth. At first she noticed the coolness of the fish, which felt surprisingly refreshing. She then bit, and though she didn’t like the texture of the meat, the taste was pleasant enough and she ate the entire piece. “Not bad,” she said, smiling. “Not bad at all.”
He grinned. “Yesterday you swam with dolphins. Today you are eating sashimi. What will tomorrow bring?”
“It’s your turn to do something brave tomorrow. I think I’ve done enough.”
Akira took another piece of fish. “Yes, yes, I sincerely agree.”
Annie watched him eat, noting how refined his movements were. How differently Akira and Ted approach eating, she thought. While Ted seemed to attack his food, Akira appeared to savor and almost study the fish. “Can I ask you something?” she said softly, the comparison of the two men prompting her curiosity.
“Of course.”
“It’s kind of silly. Rather childish, actually.”
“I think that today I have time for one silly question.”
She smiled nervously, her gaze darting from him to the sea to a bug bite on her arm. “Do you really think . . . think that I’m like that little tree?”
“I think—”
“I just don’t know if it’s realistic for a man to pay that much attention to a woman. Or for that matter, for a woman to pay that much attention to a man. Who has time for such things?”
Akira looked out over the water. “I do not know what is realistic,” he finally said. “But I do know what is possible. And is it possible for a man to pay such attention to a woman? Yes, I think so.”
Annie’s thoughts drifted back to Ted, and she wondered if he’d ever see her as the gardener had seen the tree. What would he do with her once they were reunited? “But anything is possible,” she replied. “That doesn’t make it probable.”
“This morning,” he said, setting a piece of tuna aside, “I found something.”
“What?”
He pointed to her feet. “Beneath you. Please look beneath you.”
She dug into the sand at her feet. Almost immediately, she uncovered a snail’s shell, which was sculpted and blue and highlighted with white borders—almost as if the sky had somehow been painted onto the shell. “It’s beautiful,” she said.
Akira wanted to tell her how his discovery made him think of her, of how he had written a haiku about her after he’d found it. But she was engaged and American, and the impossibility of their union weighed so heavily upon him that he simply said, “I would be honored . . . if you would keep it.”
Annie sensed that he wanted to say more. She was unsure, however, if she wanted him to. “Thank you,” she said, continuing to hold the shell. “It’s quite lovely.”
He smiled, aware that he’d thought of little but her for the past three days. “The fish is delicious, yes?” he asked, picking up another piece.
“It’s certainly simple to prepare,” she replied, smiling. “Beats cooking all day over a hot stove.”
“Simple is good.”
Though a part of her wanted to leave, another part longed to know where his mind lay. Her heart beating quicker, she licked her salty lips and found his eyes. “What were you thinking about?” she asked, surprised by her brazenness and unsure what to think of it.
“When?”
“When I was . . . holding the shell. After you gave it to me.”
Akira looked at the shell, which she held in her cupped hand. “The shell,” he said quietly, uncertain what he should tell her, “reminded me of you.”
“It did?”
“It made me . . .”
“What?”
He started to speak again and stopped. Though he’d always been honest with her, he wasn’t sure if she should know the truth, as he was afraid that it might drive her from him. Nevertheless, despite his fears, he wanted to tell her what so heavily weighed upon his mind, what kept him awake at night long after the moon had risen. And so he took a slow breath and said, “The shell . . . inspired me to write a haiku about you.”
“A haiku? What does it say?”
“It is unfinished. I am not . . . content with it yet.”
“Why not?”
He sighed, setting the leaf next to him. The words of his poem flashed within him. “Because,” he replied quietly, “to describe . . . the wonder of you with only three short phrases is a most difficult task.”
Annie drew back, simultaneously thrilled and confused and scared. “I don’t know what to think,” she said, more aware of his gaze as it fell on her than she had ever been.
He immediately bowed, briefly closing his eyes. “Please forgive me. I should not have told you this.”
She nodded absently, torn between longing to tell him that she felt the same and needing to be faithful to Ted. She looked at his hands, sensing that he yearned to touch her as much as she yearned to be touched. What would he do to me? she asked herself. How would he touch me, and what words would he share with me?
“Please forgive my foolishness,” he said, bowing again to her.
“Don’t . . . please don’t do that,” she replied, her voice and legs unsteady as she rose from the sand.
“I should not—”
“No. I put those words in your mouth. I wanted . . . I needed to hear them. And I’m sorry for that.” She wiped her brow, which was suddenly damp with perspiration. “I’m glad you liked . . . the fish,” she said, turning from him, the space between them suddenly too small. He said something to her, but she did not hear it, her mind reeling from conflicting emotions.
Annie’s feet were heavy and the sun was hot and she couldn’t get to the water fast enough.