East Wind, Rain by Caroline Paul

Author:Caroline Paul
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: HarperCollins

19

On the late afternoon of Wednesday, December 10, Howard had consented to the emergency signal. He had also agreed, reluctantly, to return to the village for a large meal and a restful sleep. And when Yoshio told him that it would be best if the pilot stayed with his family and out of everyone else’s way, Howard agreed to that too.

Nishikaichi entered the Haradas’ small, neat house and sat down on the simple handmade chair Yoshio nervously offered him.

The Keo twins shuffled in the doorway. They were typical of Niihauan youth, solid boys with hair yellowed by the sun and faces dirtied by the dust. The twin on the left (Yoshio could not tell them apart) held the round kakalaioa seeds in one hand. Later, he would hear the murmurs of the kini kini marble game in progress near the store’s shed. Now he handed them long, twisted strips of salted pork, which they accepted with diffident smiles, stuffing them into their denim pockets to eat on the ground near the horses where, as guards, they had been told by Mr. Kaleohano to sleep.

Yoshio sat down next to the pilot. They said nothing, just stared at their hands as Irene prepared their dinner.

Irene put plates of poi and salted pork in front of them. On another plate lay pieces of fruit.

-Eat, she said to the pilot softly, gesturing with the back of her hand in a scooting motion. She described the food carefully, practicing the language of her parents with each noun. Then she looked at him expectantly. He nodded.

-Arigato. You remember your native tongue well.

She bowed.

-No. Only a little.

Yoshio noticed that she blushed as she turned back to the food. He felt something in him suddenly thicken. Was he jealous? The pilot did look dashing, despite the fact that his skin was now burned a reddish brown and his hair stood churlishly on end, stiff with dust and salt. He was handsome, yes, but it was more than that. The uniform, for one. Even though it was blotted with dust and sweat, it was an impressive piece of clothing: hemmed and pocketed and riveted and seamed for every eventuality. He wanted to tear it suddenly from the pilot and put it on himself, as he had done with the hat. Instead, he anxiously wound his fingers together and watched his wife hover nearby. What should he say to the pilot? Was bargaining really the right thing to do? Once or twice he saw his wife glance at him, or perhaps at the pilot, he couldn’t tell.

Irene gestured and walked to the front door.

-Come with me for a moment, Yoshio.

He hesitated and then followed her outside.

-They’ve lit a signal, she whispered, though they spoke in English, which neither the pilot nor the Keo boys understood.

I know, he said. It’s all right. If he’s still alive, he’ll come. If not, we’re no worse off than before.

-But the Japanese! They will see the light and come to investigate! If they’re on Kauai like we think, they’ll be the ones the villagers are signaling to, not Mr.

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