Eyes of the Emperor (18 page)

Four days later, Leroy eased the
Sugar Babe
in toward the island, one hand on the wheel, the other raised in salute. Me, Cobra, and Ricky Kondo were sitting on the pier, fishing.

Leroy smiled up at us, the idling boat rumbling easy on the water. “Ah-low-
ha,
” he said with a grin. “That how y'all say it back t'home?”

“Only if you one haole,” Cobra said.

“One what?”

“Don't worry. You pass.”

“We working today?” Ricky asked.

“Yup. Just dropped some men in suits off over to Cat. They're waiting on y'all.”

“They like the cow rays?” I said.

Leroy snorted. “You kidding? I let them city shoes off on the other side at the pier.”

“Oh. Forgot about that.”

Leroy tossed up a line. “Apparently they're here to see how y'alls are working out.”

“They say who they were?”

“Nope, but they looked important.”

Ricky frowned. Again, he'd been skipped when the information was handed out. “Well, I guess we better go find out what's going on, then,” he said.

“Your major just asked for…Wait a minute.”

Leroy pulled a scrap of paper from his pocket. Stumbling through the pronunciation, he read, “Okubo, Uehara, Okazaki, Matsumaru, and Kondo.”

“Major Parrish?” I said. “He's over there?”

“Uh-huh.”

A half hour later we boarded the
Sugar Babe
. Everybody else got to stay behind and go fishing.

“No worry,” Slim called from the pier. “We save you some sea trout, ah.”

“You do that,” Cobra said as the boat pulled away, “because the
real
men going come back
real
hungry, ah? Make us a nice meal, now.”

Slim grinned.

Boy, was I going to miss all this when it was over. Strange, I know, but this island was like a home to me now.

Chik started singing.

“You're in the army now, you're not behind a plow, you'll never get rich by digging a ditch, you're in the army now.”

Pretty soon all of us were hooting and swaying, singing it over and over, like that other song that gives you a headache, “Ninety-nine Bottles of Beer on the Wall.”

At Cat Island, we waded ashore and hiked through the trees to our meeting spot. My stomach was rising, making me feel sick. I wasn't scared; I just wasn't ready.

Seven men were waiting for us.

Four strangers I took for Leroy's city-shoes guys—and Major Parrish, the Swiss. And Sweet.

What was
he
doing here?

We stood in a half circle facing them. The attack dogs and their handlers were grouped up by the kennels under a clear blue sky. Smith was there in front, looking down, his hand on Kooch's head. One of his arms was bandaged, but otherwise he looked like always. I wondered how he'd explained those bites.

“Good morning, men,” Major Parrish said. “You know Franz, of course, and Lieutenant Sweet.”

Sweet winked.

Major Parrish swung his hand toward the city shoes. “These men came down from Washington, D.C., to see how your part in the war dog program is progressing.”

The men dipped their heads, nodded. Seemed like okay guys.

“Earlier this year, Franz convinced President Roosevelt that he could train dogs to identify Japanese soldiers by their scent. That's what these men from Washington are here to see.”

I glanced at Smith, but he wouldn't look at me.

“They want a scent, we should go get Leroy,” Chik whispered.

Cobra smirked.

The Swiss nodded to the guys from Washington, then motioned for Smith and Kooch to step forward.

“You,” he said, pointing to me. “Front and center.”

I glanced at Chik and Cobra, then stepped up.

Smith stood waiting with Kooch, who sat obediently to his left. This time when I looked at Smith, he looked back.

I held his gaze.

He dipped his chin, slightly.

The Swiss then called on three guys from the Quartermaster Corps, not handlers. Guys I'd never seen before.

I leaned close and whispered to Smith, “You get cut bad?”

“Naw. The gator got it worse.”

I had to smile.

“All right,” the Swiss said to the city shoes. “I'm sending four men out to hide. Note that their only difference is their race—three Americans, and one Jap.”

Jeese! I thought. What's
wrong
with these idiots? I glanced at Smith, now standing with his lips pursed, looking at his feet.

“The dog will have four scents to follow. He will choose the Jap scent, because that's what he's been trained to do. That will be proof of his particular ability.”

The Swiss put a hand on my shoulder. “When the dog finds you, stand up and put your hands in the air. You know what to do.”

I nodded.

Kooch's ears cocked forward.

How was this a test? Kooch always found me. The Swiss should have picked somebody Kooch didn't know. Because if Kooch sniffed out one of the white guys when he knew me so well, then this program was in big trouble. Strange, but that thought made me sad, because of all the work we'd put into this.

“Head off into the woods and hide, all of you,” the Swiss said. “Not too far, now. We want to see the dog perform.”

The Swiss had Smith distract Kooch so he wouldn't see where we went.

We spread out.

I found a place just inside the jungle, a sandy hole under a leafy green bush. By now Kooch had taught me a thing or two about hiding; how to toss sand over my footprints to try to mask the scent; how to sit as still as a lizard, barely breathing, blending into the shadows, making no sound. Becoming the landscape. Invisible.

Unblinking, I peeked through the leaves.

And waited.

A cold river shuddered through me. I wanted to throw up, remembering the last time Kooch had come looking for me. I inched my hand toward my pocket for the blue stone. It wasn't there. Did I lose it?

“All right,” the Swiss called.

Smith took the chain off Kooch and replaced it with the leather collar. He used the six-foot leash. Man and dog moved toward the trees.

“Watch him,” Smith said.

Kooch sniffed the ground, back and forth, picking up the scents. Mine he knew as well as Smith's, and I cringed,
thinking that it was right up front in his memory because of the bloody fight the last time we met.

The Swiss watched with his hands on his hips.

I didn't move a muscle, keeping as still as I possibly could, sweat dripping off me like rain. If Kooch came to me it would just be because he knew me. That was all. He knew me as well as he knew Smith or the family that had volunteered him for the army.

“Watch him,” Smith said again.

It can't work
. How could I face Smith's smirk if it did? Or ever in my life tell Pop about this? Or anyone? How could I say we had some kind of special stink dogs can pick up on? Impossible.

Kooch stopped, his ears pricked ahead. He tugged on the leash, and Smith let the dog lead him.

I was soaked in sweat, the memory of the fight with Smith and Kooch pouring back into me.

Closer, closer.

Coming in.

Kooch stopped and grumbled, low and frightening. I squeezed my eyes shut.

I heard a rustle in the bushes and covered my head with my arms. Kooch growled louder.

Somebody yelped.

“Out!” Smith called.

I snapped up.

It wasn't me Kooch had found.

One of the white guys stood with his hands in the air, his face white.

Kooch stood with his eyes fixed on the guy.

I took a deep breath, almost gasping. Was it true?

Something broke and flooded out of me. I could feel it. I sank down into the dirt.

It's over.

Over.

But it didn't make me feel any better, because right or wrong, something I'd given so much for had just failed.

All of us hiding in the bushes moved out into the silence. The Swiss, standing back with the Washington big shots, didn't seem to know what to do next.

Smith got down on one knee and praised Kooch for finding his man. Then he peeked up at me.

He glanced back to be sure no one else could hear, then said, “Just so you know, Kubo…I never…I never did buy into that Jap smell thing.”

I scowled. “How come you didn't say that before now?”

“Why should I? Japs ain't nobody's favorite people these days, you know.”

I looked down. Then back up.

Smith, gazing at Kooch now, said, “I pegged you wrong, Kubo. Sorry. ”

He stood and brushed the sand from his knee.

I watched him walk Kooch back toward the other handlers, not knowing what to do with what I'd just heard.

I guess I should have felt some sense of triumph. But all I felt was worn out. We were just soldiers, doing our jobs. Me and Smith and Kooch.

The Swiss stood for long minutes with his hands frozen on his hips.

On the boat heading back to Ship Island we all knew that our time here was over. If the dogs couldn't find us just because we were Japanese, then what was the use of Japanese dog bait?

I don't know why, but right then I thought of President Roosevelt and how he believed we might smell different from white guys.

My president.

Made me feel sad.

A day later I was fishing off the pier with a bamboo pole and fiddler crab bait. Some of the guys were back at the barrack. Others had gone swimming on the other side of the island or hiking down the coast, enjoying the last days of our wartime paradise, because when the city shoes left, they looked grim.

Chik and Cobra sat next to me, the three of us talking about old times back home in Kaka'ako.

“Remember that goofy guy from Coral Street?” Chik said. “What was his name? The guy always skipping school?”

“Harvey,” Cobra said.

“Yeah, Harvey. Remember when he said his teacher was making his class read a book called
Homeless Idiot
?”

We all laughed, remembering. It felt good to think back on something so clear, now that our future was so foggy.

“Was Homer's
Iliad,
ah?” Chik shook his head. “He should be in the army. Make him a lieutenant, like Sweet.”

I snorted.

But I couldn't shake the memory of the grim faces on those city shoes, standing around so quiet after Kooch went to the white guy. That moment changed the path of our lives.

I shook my head and looked up, then raised my hand to block the sun. “Look… Leroy coming.”

The
Sugar Babe
was heading over from Cat Island with some guy standing on the bow. “Only one guy I know stands like that,” I said.

Chik and Cobra leaned forward to look past me.

“How come he shows up everywhere we go?”

“He must love you,” Cobra said.

“He love to make me do push-ups, you mean.”

“That, too.”

“Look who else is on board,” Chik said.

Major Parrish was just ducking up the companionway, coming out on deck. “Prob'ly checking out Leroy's new fuel pump, make sure the army got its money's worth.”

“Hunh,” Cobra grunted.

Leroy aimed the boat toward the pier.

We stood and hauled up our lines. Four fat sea trout were curved into a bucket of seawater next to us.

Leroy reversed the engines just as the
Sugar Babe
was about to ram the pier.

Sweet tossed up the coiled bow line. Major Parrish hopped off and secured the stern. “Afternoon, men,” he said. “Good fishing?”

“Yes, sir,” we said, saluting him.

He gave a casual salute back. “You rested up?”

“Feeling fine, sir,” Chik said.

“Good, because we've got new orders.”

That evening Hot Dog made up a special dinner from all the fish everyone caught, like a party at home in Japanese camp. Even Sweet had a good time.

“Gather round, men,” Major Parrish said finally.

We found places to sit on the floor and bunks, ready for the bad news. It was always bad. I figured we'd be sent back to McCoy, where they'd tell us we weren't fit to fight.

Major Parrish paced with his hands in his pockets. “Let's start with the obvious—your mission here has been terminated. Washington wasn't impressed. Nevertheless, your work was excellent. A very difficult job.”

Sweet stood off to the side, cleaning his ear with his little finger.

Major Parrish looked at the floor. “I wasn't so sure about that Japanese scent business. But the president bought it, and that's all that mattered.”

“They should have fed us that smelly stuff they eat in Japan,” Ricky Kondo said. “
Koko, natto,
and
takuwan
—that would have done it.”

We all laughed, because if that didn't do it, nothing would.

“Maybe so, maybe so,” Major Parrish said. “But I commend you all, because you were entirely successful in all other areas of the work you did here—especially with the
scout and sentry dogs. And those of you working with the attack dogs performed bravely and with discipline.”

I winced, remembering what Smith had told me about the suicide dogs.

“A few of you will go to Gulfport to continue working with the sentry dogs. The rest of you are heading to Camp Shelby, Mississippi, to rejoin your battalion for advancedunit training.”

A groan rumbled through the room, because we all knew how out of shape we were—sleeping late, fishing, swimming, eating all that good seafood. Ho, would we pay, just to get back to where we were before. I rubbed my arm, my dog bites down to scabs now. I was ready.

“You've got seven days to pack up. Meanwhile, enjoy yourselves, because once you leave this island things are going to change drastically.”

Major Parrish studied our faces, just like he used to do back in mechanical drawing class at McKinley. “This is it, boys. You're going to Europe. You're going to war.”