“Another reason,” said Christian.
Jack whispered in the ear of the girl he was trying to woo and sent her on her way. “I’ll find her later,” he said, watching her walk away.
Christian raised his eyebrows and looked at the men in the bar trying their best to seduce the Honolulu prostitutes without having to pay them and suggested to Jack that he not become one of them.
“Don’t worry, I’ve got you and your money now,” said Jack smiling.
“Right,” said Christian. “So, out of curiosity, how many of the men you came over with hate you?”
“All of them,” said Jack. “Except that one.” He pointed to a boy twice his size. “He’s Samoan and mean as hell, but we got into a fight and I knocked him out. Can you believe it?”
“Yes,” said Christian dryly, pointing at his head to remind Jack of the concussion he’d given him.
“Oh, right,” said Jack. “How was I to know your skull is about as solid as a paper cup.” He looked at the stocky boy and said, “That one was a lot tougher than you. No bullshit infirmary time over a made-up concussion. He just started liking me a lot more when he realized this wiry yet handsome frame hid the strength of a madman.”
“You’re definitely a madman,” said Christian as he stood up. It was time for both of them to go back to base, but Jack shook his head no and clutched the bar. “I’ll take the punishment,” he said. “I’m not leaving here yet.”
“Never mind madman. You’re still an idiot,” said Christian. He had to get outside quickly or he would not be in time to hitch a ride back to base with the other soldiers in the bar.
“Idiot! That’s not what these girls have been saying. They love me. You’re right, Hawaii’s sure as shit better than Wisconsin. If we die here, we die here!” said Jack, standing up and throwing his hands in the air.
“I’ll see you back on base,” Christian said, leaving money on the bar for both of them. “Don’t get syphilis.”
CHAPTER 26
EMI KATO
DECEMBER 1943–JANUARY 1944
While Claire Ohkawa had gone on about how much food the Germans in Karuizawa had compared to the Japanese and other foreigners, Emi still felt an enormous amount of guilt about accepting to play at Standartenführer Drexel’s party. But between Claire’s insistence and the Moris’ obviously hollow state, she felt she had a moral obligation to play and return home with food. She could not let her revulsion of the German military keep her away.
“You play, you eat, keep to yourself, and if possible, you bring some food with you when you leave,” Jiro Mori had suggested when Emi had returned to his home on her first full day in Karuizawa. While the Moris had insisted that they were thrilled to have her with them, she understood very quickly that they lacked the energy to play host. The war had already taken a toll on their aged bodies, and all they had the strength for was staying warm and getting enough to eat. As they had given her a tour of their house, their bodies moving slowly through the quaint summer cottage, which felt as warm as a tent in December, they had made it clear that life in Karuizawa, especially in winter, was not easy. Despite their physical limitations, they looked every day in the forest for watercress, chestnuts, acorns, and matsutake mushrooms. There was sometimes wild boar and pheasants to hunt, but they weren’t able to do that themselves, both of them nearing their mid-eighties. They had friends who would sometimes bring them those delicacies, if they were lucky enough to find them, but mostly they lived on their meager government rations. Emi promised she would help, that she would learn to navigate Karuizawa and bring home what she could. She thought of writing to her parents and asking how aware they were of the Moris’ state, if they knew she was going to have to spend winter frozen and eating hand to mouth, but decided against it. They were already terrified for her safety; she didn’t want to worry them further.
“You played for the Nazis just now,” Claire pointed out when Emi expressed her hesitation as they left the Mampei Hotel. “That officer, Hans Drexel, he was listening to you. That’s why he approached you. So what’s the difference if you play in the hotel or if you play at a party?”
“The difference,” Emi said, “is that at Drexel’s I can eat and bring home food for you and the Moris, yes?”
“I hope so,” said Claire.
“So I will go.”
The morning of their first encounter, Claire took Emi on a brisk walk around the small town, down country roads, pointing out the places where watercress grew in streams, which kind of mushrooms were edible and which were poisonous, and the fields where strawberries would grow in the spring.
“There used to be ducks in this pond,” said Claire, “but as you can guess, they’ve all been eaten.”
“It’s still quite beautiful,” said Emi, unused to such dense greenery, trees tall as buildings.
“It is,” said Claire. “That’s why so many people come here, but mostly in the summer because it stays so cool. Before the war it was packed with American missionaries, but they’re all gone now. More space for us, I suppose. We’re one thousand meters up, and it makes all the difference in temperature. Celebrities used to visit, too. I was here—had just married Kiyoshi—when Charles Lindbergh was celebrated at a banquet in town after he flew into Japan. The American ambassador had a large summer home in Karuizawa in the early thirties. And Douglas Fairbanks—do you know him? The American actor?”
Emi nodded her head yes.
“He came here in thirty-three. Played golf with the ambassador. That was all before the ski resort was built in ’35. That’s when the Germans started coming. Do all Germans ski? It seems like it here.”
“I think the rich ones do,” said Emi, pointing to a few squat mushrooms growing on a log nestled in the light green moss beneath a dense grove of bamboo grass.
“If you see anything edible, take it,” Claire advised, reassuring Emi that the mushrooms were shiitake and not poisonous. “Do the Moris have any animals? A cow or a goat?” she asked as Emi dug in the ground with her bare hands, the only sound that of bush warblers flying overhead.
“No, I don’t think so,” said Emi, putting the dirty mushrooms in the pocket of her coat. “They don’t seem in a state to be tending animals. They are much more elderly than I was made to believe.”
“That’s too bad,” said Claire. “We have a milking goat and it’s kept us from melting away. We drink the milk and when I leave it on the stove, it curdles and turns to cottage cheese. You’re already very thin; you’ll have to be careful. Perhaps you can trade some of your possessions for one—though it won’t be easy. I’ll try to help,” she said, pointing out a fox on the road.
“Do you eat those, too?” Emi asked, watching the red animal dart between two small trees.
“No,” said Claire. “Not yet. We still consider them sacred. But ask me again next year.”