No Surrender Soldier (15 page)

At the time, a part of me thought how neat it was that Sammy would teach me things my parents said were too dangerous for me to do, like Mumblety-peg. But another part of me had been jealous Sammy owned a pocketknife and got to do things I wasn’t allowed to do.

Thinking back, the jealous part of me was dumb. Of course Sammy got to do things I couldn’t, like stay up later and go swimming or to the movies with friends. He was a lot older. But I couldn’t see that then. I just thought my parents weren’t being fair. Like it was dumb of me to be jealous about Tata giving Sammy his knife before my brother left for Vietnam.

Nana slipped into the shed and I pretended I was doing my geometry problems. If she looked at the paper she could see I hadn’t gotten much done. Nana gathered her muumuu and held it up out of the red dirt. “What are you doing sitting out here?”

I ran my hand down Bobo’s spine. “Not’ing.”

“Tatan? You heard him?”

“Couldn’t help but. What’s with him anyway? I’d get hot sauce on my tongue for even one of those words.”

Nana almost laughed. “So you would. I took him to the doctor today.”

“Yeah? How’d that go?”

“Doc Blas says Tatan’s getting worse.”

I didn’t know what to say anymore.

“Doc says we’ll see peaks and valleys until he bottoms out at the end.” Nana bent down to pet Bobo. He rolled over on his back to get a belly rub.

I looked at my nana, trying to read the meaning in her face, but all I could see were dark half moons sunken under her eyes, and sad crinkles around her mouth.

“I don’t really understand it myself. Somet’ing about how he’ll have good days and bad days.”

“Doesn’t sound much different than the rest of us.” I patted Bobo’s belly. “He’s just having a bad day, eh?”

The tightness in Nana’s face relaxed. “Yeah, guess you’re right. We’re all having a bad day today. Must be Tatan knows it, too.”

“So, did doc give him anyt’ing? You know, medicine to make him more better?”

“Not really. There’s not’ing for dementia. Not yet, doc says. But he gave him some pills to help with his moods. That’s why he’s not so out of it today.”

If the situation weren’t so serious, I would have laughed out loud. Pills for Tatan’s moods! He was certainly in a mood, if that’s what it could be called.

“Let’s go back in the house,” Nana said. “I need to cook fish and fried rice and red beans for supper. Doc Blas says to make sure Tatan eats regularly.”

“In a minute. I want to finish my homework.”

What I really wanted was to be alone and think about Sammy a little longer. I pitched pebbles into the patch of sunlight, imagining I was playing Mumblety-pegs again. I did that for a while and then remembered what had happened after Sammy showed me how to play the knife game. Nana caught us. She yelled at Sammy, said I was going to get hurt bad and it’d be his fault.

“You grounded!” Nana had shouted at Sammy.

He laughed one big “Ha!” and said, “I’m too old to ground.”

Nana looked as if she was ready to swat Sammy on the butt. But then she ordered, “Go to your room!”

Sammy did as she said. I didn’t know if he was griping under his breath or laughing. I followed him to our bedroom. I’d figured if Sammy was grounded then I wanted to be grounded, too. Just so I got to hang out with my big brother.

I got up off the ground and brushed the dirt off the seat of my pants. I picked up my geometry book and took it to our room—Sammy’s and mine.

The next day Tata threatened to lock Tatan outside for the night so they could get some sleep. But Nana wouldn’t hear of it.

Tatan cursed continually for four days. “Worse than a movie house,” Tata said. Finally Nana shouted, “Enough already! I’m taking him back to the doctor.”

Tata didn’t argue with her, even though it meant he’d have to run the shop all by himself and cost plenty mullah for doctor bills and medicine. “I was saving that money to fix your kitchen.”

Nana patted his arm. “It can wait.” She kissed his cheek.

By Thursday night Tatan seemed to have slipped back into his stupor, but by Friday he rose before the sun, banging pots and pans, wanting to cook breakfast. I believe he would have, too, if he only knew where Nana hid the stove knobs.

By Sunday I could tell Tatan’s mood medicine kicked in plenty good.

“Tatan’s riding high on that ‘purple mushroom’ he’s taking, eh?” I kidded Nana.

“Don’t you be making fun of Tatan.” She shook a spatula at me. “Besides, doc says his good moods wouldn’t last, so enjoy it now before he takes another turn for the worse.”

Tata convinced her they had to skip Mass and work at the Quonset Hut. “Bills are piled high and inventory’s backed up.”

I actually wanted to stock shelves to help out. But knew I was helping more by being at home looking out for Tatan. Nana didn’t need to fret much about him, what with all the worrying she was doing about Sammy.

“We’ll miss Mass just this once,” Tata said. “Or we’ll start going Saturday night at the basilica in Agana on our way home from work.”

That was fine with me. I didn’t feel like going to Mass lately. Except I missed seeing Daphne, watching her say the rosary. I did get to see her on Friday nights when I went to Catechism. But the closer it got to Confirmation, I felt more and more… dirty. No, what did the priest call it? Unworthy. That must be what I felt. I couldn’t explain it any other way.

By one o’clock I guessed Tomas must be home from church so I called and asked him over for a game of baseball.

“You sure you want me over there, bro? How’s Tatan?”

“Sure, I’m sure,” I said, snaking the phone cord around my hand. “Tatan’s fine. In fact, he’s great! Doc’s got him high on some mood elevator. He’s buzzing better than if he chewed betel nut sliced with lime.”

“
Humph.
Like you’d know.”

Tomas arrived with his bat and a big basket of food his nana insisted he bring. “So you boys don’t eat everyt’ing at Roselina’s and make that poor woman have to cook tonight,” Tomas said, imitating Missus Tanaka’s voice.

Tatan cracked jokes that would have been funny if they weren’t so old I’d heard them millions of times. Tomas laughed though. Bobo even picked up on Tatan’s “elevated” mood and scampered around like a young pup.

“Come on, let’s get Tatan to play ball with us.” I smacked Sammy’s baseball into my glove. “That way we can keep him happy and out of trouble.”

We had the best game going since forever. I reveled in the cool ocean breeze and light shower that misted me down after working up a sweat running bases.

Tatan and Bobo were a sight. Tatan bunted and Bobo chased balls in the outfield. It wasn’t real clear whose team they were on—mine or Tomas’s—but I didn’t care. I couldn’t remember the last time we’d had such fun together.

“And it’s a bunt to the infield,” Tomas said in his sportscaster’s voice, as Tatan trotted to first base.

“You know, bunts aren’t so bad. Better to stay out of the boonies that way.”

“What?” Tomas said. “You afraid of power-hitter Tanaka?”

“Afraid? Me? No way, man. Pla-a-a-y ball!” I wound up a pitch. I looked left to see Tatan standing between first and second. I pretended to throw the ball at Tatan to get him out. Which was a joke since no one but Bobo was there to retrieve the ball.

Tatan ran back to first. “Ha. Ha! Can’t get me. I’m safe!” he shouted.

Tomas called, “Bobo! Go deep!” Bobo barked and skipped in circles in the infield.

I wound up my arm again. I pitched square across the plate.

Tomas swung the bat from above shoulder to chest.
Cra-ack.
He followed through.

The ball sped a line drive past the pitcher’s mound and straight for the river. I dove to keep from getting hit. Bobo’s nose followed its path, and he took off running. Tatan slow-ran around the bases, making sure he touched every one.

I got up, dusted myself off, and ran toward the boonies.

“And it’s a home run!” Tomas said, sportscaster style.

Tatan rounded second base.

I chased Bobo into the boonies. I searched near the river.

No ball.

Bobo must have picked up a scent because he followed a trail upstream.

I followed deeper into the underbrush, knowing Tomas hit this one farther than ever before. Muffled by the distance and boonies, Tomas’s voice was calling for me. I paused only long enough to yell back, “It’s Sammy’s ball! I have to find Sammy’s ball!”

It sounded as if Tomas said, “He’ll understand. Come back. We’ll get another one.”

I didn’t want another ball. No other ball would do. I didn’t want a hundred new balls. I wanted this baseball. Sammy gave me it to me. What if I never saw him again and this was the last thing he gave me?

Deeper and deeper into the dense boonies, Bobo and I searched. I looked for traces of mashed down plants, or any sign that a ball had whizzed through the foliage. It didn’t help that Bobo did his own mashing and breaking of ferns and limbs.

I passed a banyan tree. I decided it would be a waste of daylight to climb it. I passed where I’d seen the dead snake. All that sat there was a rock. I passed the place where I remembered a man’s footprint had been. I looked again to see if my eyes, or the
taotaomona
spirits, had played tricks on me. Maybe. There was no snake, no footprint today.

Bobo veered away from the river and barked at something he pawed at in the dirt. Maybe he found Sammy’s baseball.

“Fetch it, Bobo!” I whistled. “Bring it here, boy!”

Maybe the ball was stuck. Or it wasn’t Sammy’s ball after all. Maybe he’d cornered an animal instead.

Either way, I needed to get Bobo and head back. Daylight was gone. I’d have to wait until tomorrow to search again.

I’ll look every day until I find it, Sammy. Every day until you come home.

“Bobo.” My dog glanced up for only a second then resumed scratching.

I trampled through the underbrush to some bamboo stalks seemingly set apart in a tiny forestland of their own. I looked down to see what Bobo was scratching at under fallen bamboo leaves scattered on the jungle floor.

“What the… no animal made this.” I reached for the bamboo mat tied together with coarse rope. I stopped. Better not. I left it alone.

“Bobo, no!” I hissed, trying to keep my voice low. “Let’s get out of here.”

I grabbed Bobo by the scruff of his neck and pulled him away from the handmade mat. Bobo kept his head up, and sniffed and bobbed his neck from side to side, as I dragged him away from the inhabited area. Bobo reared up on hind legs, growled, and bared his teeth. I’d never seen him like this before.

I spun around and saw something. What was it? A man? He looked… wild… dirty… hunched. A stench reeked through the air, not like anything I’d smelled before.

Bobo lunged and broke from my grasp. “Bobo, no,” I called. “Come!”

I watched thrashing in the impenetrable brush. Bobo’s barking turned to yelping, then snarling, then high-pitched yip, yip-yips.

I plunged into the thicket, not caring that the underbrush cut my legs. “Bobo!” I shouted. “Bobo!”

I found Bobo lying in the brush, blood soaking his belly. I rushed to see if he was still alive. Bobo panted hard in between deep throaty moans. I stood up and looked in every direction. What monster would do this to my dog? I couldn’t imagine anyone I knew on Guam, no matter how mean, hurting a dog. But this wasn’t an animal attack. My blood boiled and I wanted to punch someone or something. I twisted in circles, searching, searching, for who did this.

No one. No sign, except for Bobo bleeding.

“Let’s get you home, Bobo.” I cradled my dog in my arms and carried him out of the brambles and brush, past palms, banyan, and breadfruit trees, along the Talofofo tributary until we were well into the clearing where Tomas and Tatan waited for us in the dark.

“How’d this happen?” Tomas called and ran toward me.

“Bobo’s hurt. Let’s get him back to the house and see how bad.” I wasn’t sure I wanted to tell about the wild man in the boonies until I sorted things out for myself.

Tomas rubbed Bobo behind his ears, which drooped down. He whimpered.

“Got your ball?” Tatan asked.

I shook my head “no,” then nuzzled my face into Bobo’s neck.

No one talked as we walked back to the house. I was relieved my parents weren’t home yet. I laid Bobo on the kitchen floor and asked Tomas to fetch rags. Tatan got a drink of water and went into the living room and turned on the TV.

I carefully dabbed reddish-brown blood from Bobo’s yellow fur. “It’s not that Tatan doesn’t care about Bobo.”

“It’s his sickness, maybe the medicine, eh?” Tomas said, more as a question.

I told myself if I concentrated on Bobo, I could push the anger down inside somewhere, deal with it later. Bobo needed me more at that moment. Tomas kept staring toward the living room, looking at Tatan watching TV, as if nothing happened. I cleared my throat. “I don’t even know if he understands about Sammy… being lost and all.”

Tomas chucked his chin. I went back to washing Bobo with a rag, being as gentle as I could not to hurt him.

Bobo licked his ribs. Once the blood was cleaned from his fur, Tomas and I inspected a deep gash under his ribcage.

“What would have caused that?” Tomas asked. “Looks like it’s punctured.”

I didn’t say anything. I wondered if I hadn’t gotten there in time, would the man have killed Bobo?

I knew then for sure, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that what I had seen was not a
taotaomona
spirit playing tricks on me.

I had seen, with my own eyes, a real, live man.

The gaunt, stooped-shouldered walking skeleton with a sunken face and hollow, dark eyes had to be a Japanese straggler stalking the boonies not far from our house.

I shook thinking about it. What if I’d been all alone, or Bobo, or Tatan? What would the straggler have done to any one of us?

I went to the bathroom to find some medicine. I poured peroxide into Bobo’s wound. He yelped and nipped at his sore. I spread thick ointment on the cut, then wrapped and tied my gray T-shirt around Bobo to stop the bleeding.

“Let’s get Bobo to the shed,” I told Tomas. “Nana will pitch a fit if she finds him in the house.”