Riki Kimura . . . Kimura, Haruo murmured. Same name as the boyzu.
Mas nodded. Heezu same class as me. And Joji, too. After the war, dis Kimura became one of those no-good gangsters,
chinpira.
Black market?
Yah, only he good at it. Real good. Mas paused. I made it ova here to America on his dirty money.
Mas had been desperate. There was no future for him in Hiroshima. He wasnt going to stay and become a mere field hand below his three brothers. He was destined for something more, and he knew that it lay in the country of his birth, America, the victor.
When he met Riki on the streets of Hiroshima months after the bombing, there was no talk about Joji Haneda. Mas figured that Joji had met a bad fate that had somehow been helped along by Mas himself. Rikis old downtown home was gone. Both his mother and grandfather had been killed, and his father was still missing. Riki now hung out with the other street orphans who had turned to the black market, alcohol and drugs, and prostitution for money. Mas didnt know which vice Riki was resorting to perhaps all but whatever his choice of illicit activity, it was making him rich. Riki even showed Mas a whole set of Australian army jackets hed bought from a soldier, all stashed in a corner of an abandoned factory that somehow had survived the blast.
Mas stayed away from Riki as much as he could. He spent his days in the country, harvesting rice, trying to save as many yen notes as he could, but they were practically worthless, more valuable for firewood than anything else.
In his desperation, Mas starting thinking: What was wrong with stealing from a thief? Im an American citizen, anyway. I have the right to leave this place. So one evening he returned to that abandoned factory, and sure enough, hidden in an Australian army jacket were two hundred American dollars and also some folded-up papers in an envelope. When Mas saw the name Joji Haneda on the papers, he could only imagine what had happened. He ran out of the dilapidated factory building with the army jacket and two hundred dollars, but not the papers. Those papers were cursed, he felt and as it turned out, so was the jacket. When Mas was eventually caught selling the jacket on the black market, he told the military police what they wanted. Riki Kimura. Seventeen years old. Hooked nose. A scar on the back of his neck.
Mas explained to Haruo, The MPs lookin out for these black market gangsters. They let me go, but I neva tell them about the two hundred dolla. I use that to go to Kobe and then get the hell out of Japan.
And dis Kimura?
Stuck in jail for a while, but I guess he finally make it out of Hiroshima on Joji Hanedas papers. I neva say nutin, even when he showed up in California. I kept Jojis death a secret. Nobody needsu to know, I thought. But that was before Akemi Haneda had returned to her birthplace, Los Angeles.
Dis Kimura one bad guy, Haruo assessed.
Well, he lookin for a place for himself. Just neva found it.
* * *
Before going home to McNally Street, Mas had Haruo stop by Tanakas. Wait here, he told Haruo in the car. I be just few minutes.
An old dome desk light was on by the cash register. There Wishbone stood, straightening out some nails in wooden compartments. He wore a baseball cap advertising a brand of lawn mower. From a distance, he could pass for any skinny Nisei guy, even Haruo.
Mas said, You not at the funeral.
Wishbone turned, the light drawing shadows on his pockmarked face. Wasnt in the mood.
Mas waited, hearing the tired crickets outside. He couldnt stand this feeling inside his gut. It was like making a bad bet you couldnt face up to, like assuming a jockey was steady but finding out later he was a drug addict. Everything became clear in that darkened shack. So clear that it hurt.
You the one who killsu him. Joji Haneda.
What? He died of cancer. Any fool could tell that he was only a few steps away from the grave.
No. Mas shook his head. He not wearin his mask. Nurse tole me everytin.
You have no proof, Mas, and neither does that nurse.
No proof, but I knowsu. Afta that card game, youzu out to finish him off.
Why would I want to take his life when he owes me money? Cant get cash from a dead man. Think, Mas, think.
Yah, Izu thinkin, Wishbone. Thinkin that you mad enough to kill.
Wishbone placed a nail on the counter. What if I told you that he asked me to take his mask off? That he begged me to end it all. That with every breath came pain. Not only his body but things in his head.
Youzu no right, Mas said weakly. But he knew that pain well. He was just surprised that Riki had succumbed to it.
I tried to put the mask back on him. But he kept turning his head, fighting me off. Didnt want to breathe anymore, I guess. Once the monitors started beeping loud, I got out of there. But nobody saw me. I made sure of that.
Mas somehow believed Wishbone, but he wasnt going to let him off scot-free. You the one at the mistresss house that day, Mas said. You the one runnin cross street. And then, later, you were there when she all beat up.
Wishbone jiggled a box of nails.
Youzu the one who set dis up. With Nakane in first place,
ne
.
I dont know what youre talkin about, Mas.
Nakane here in June, askin questions. Waitin for me. Youzu tole him about me.
Wishbone said nothing.
Not Haruo at the mistresss house. Was you. She had a load of money to give to you. That envelope had been meant for Wishbone, Mas knew now. Wishbone had been playing both sides, and Yuki was now the fall guy. Youzu probably behind my truck gettin stolen, too.
Wishbone came out from behind the counter. How much do you think Im gonna get for this place? Dont own the land. Just the business. Fire sale. Chump change. How am I gonna live, Mas? Cant depend on my kids; they have their own lives. He placed the tip of one of the nails in his mouth and bit down. Youd do the same. If the price was right.
You were gonna let innocent boy go to jail?
Hey, wait a minute, Wishbone interrupted. That was not my doin. And the girl, too. Didnt know they were going to do that. All I was paid for was to hook you up with Nakane. I even told them not to hurt you. Haneda wanted to see you, too, but on his own terms. I was a matchmaker of sorts. Nothin criminal about that.
And these people from Hiroshima?
I owe none of them, said Wishbone. They owe me; thats what I think. We are the ones who were locked up, stripped of our manhood, because we looked like them. Now they can pay us for what we sacrificed.
Youzu crazy, Wishbone.
Wishbones eyes seemed to burn like coals. We the ones who opened the door for them. Even my uncle was a liaison for a Japanese bank here in L.A. Those guys used him, said he was some kind of bridge, and then threw him away when he got too old.
Mas understood. It hadnt been easy starting over in the 1940s and 50s. For those Nisei, you could see the world divided by race: Japanese,
hakujin,
and the others.
But Wishbone didnt know the whole story. He hadnt seen the ravaged bodies, the burning flesh. One minute friends laughed, full of life; next minute, destroyed. Those things never escaped ones mind. Once you witnessed that, you saw evil, and it didnt live in just Americans or Japanese. It lived close by, in friends, in neighbors, and, most frighteningly, inside yourself.
Mas circled the lawn mower shop. Finally he stopped by a beat-up corkboard fastened to the wall near the door. You gotsu grandchildren. Mas gestured to some wallet-sized photos pinned to the board. I see them, all fat, cute. Izu gonna be grandpa, too. Wishbone looked up, curious. Even in the darkness of the shop, he was always ready to hear some fresh gossip.
I knowsu that baby gonna be
orai
. Or I say I knowsu, but dont really. Mas remembered meeting Yukikazu Kimura for the first time at the medical exams.
My white count abnormally high,
the boy had said. And he was two generations removed from the Bomb.
There also had been those damaged babies born to the survivors immediately after the war. Their heads bloated, their limbs withered and useless. Mas didnt know which was worse for them to die or to live. The image of those babies had stayed in the back of Mass mind all throughout Chizukos pregnancy. Chizuko recalled it, too, Mas knew. They never spoke of their fears, because if they gave voice to them, their fears would somehow become true.
But Mari had been born perfectly normal. And her child, his grandchild, would be healthy, too, right?
Mas stayed quiet, listening for some kind of answer, a sign. The crickets stopped their chirping. It felt cold in the doorway.
About your truck, Wishbone finally said. I didnt know what they were going to do with it. They just asked me what was important to you. The only thing I could think of was the Ford.
Mas merely nodded and stepped out of Tanakas Lawn-mower Shop. That was the last time he would go through its doors.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
It took G. I. Hasuike one day to free the boy. The only thing was, Rumi, the witness, had to stay in town for a while. Her parents were coming to America for a long visit, she explained. Good, Mas said. Youzu needsu to talk.
Nakane, meanwhile, was on the run. The authorities thought that he had escaped to Japan, or even to Mexico, under an alias. It was only a matter of time before he was caught, Mas figured. Lies like that rarely lasted beyond a lifetime.
Akemi and Yuki, on the other hand, got the green light to leave the country, as long as they checked in with the Japanese authorities when they arrived in Hiroshima. They didnt waste any time, and booked a flight directly to Kansai International Airport for the next day. Everybody was supposed to go to see them off at LAX everybody, that is, except for Mas.
Mas didnt like anything about airports. The crowds, the airport limousines, the constant hubbub. It was a place on the go; except Mas wasnt going anywhere. And it wasnt even so much the good-byes. What made Mas feel so empty was seeing the lovers, old friends, fathers, and daughters meet up again after being separated by time and distance.
