Harry Turtledove - Days of Infamy

Hiroshi and Kenzo ate with every bit as much gusto as Jiro. They might prefer hamburgers to sashimi, but anybody in his right mind would prefer sashimi to the bowls of rice and noodles and beans, all overcooked together, they’d been getting. That kind of food might keep you alive, but it made you wonder why you went on living. This… This was worth eating.

“Ahhh!” Jiro smiled and smacked his belly. “I’ve missed that.”

Kenzo nodded. Hiroshi was still chewing. “Me, too,” he said with his mouth full.

“We’ll use the guts and things for bait this time,” Jiro said. “That’ll draw more sharks, but nobody these days will turn up his nose at shark meat. We don’t sell just the fins now.”

“Food is food,” Hiroshi agreed. “Even the haoles aren’t so fussy now. Maybe they’ll call it something like ‘sea steak’ ”-he said the words in English, then translated them into Japanese-“so they don’t have to think about what they’re really eating, but they’ll eat it.”

When they drew in the lines this time, they did catch some sharks, but they also got one of the nicest ahi Jiro had ever seen, even better than the one he’d feasted on before. He started to cut more sashimi from it, but paused with his knife poised above its still-glittering side. “Go ahead, Father,” Kenzo said. “You took it off the hook, so it’s yours. It’ll be good.” He smacked his lips. He was eating more raw fish.

Jiro shook his head. “I’ll choose another. This one I think I’ll save for Kita- san.”

His sons looked at each other, the way they often did when he said something they didn’t like. He waited for them to start shouting at him for having anything to do with the Japanese consul. To his surprise, they kept quiet. He supposed it was because he’d sometimes brought fish to the consulate before the war started. They couldn’t say he was doing it to curry favor with Kita now.

Kenzo did sigh, but all he said was, “Have it your way. You will anyhow.”

“ Arigato goziemasu.” Jiro made the thank-you as sarcastic as he could. Then he cut strips of tender, deep pink flesh from another ahi. Maybe that fish wasn’t quite so perfect as the one he’d set aside for the consul, but it was plenty good enough for him.

He and his sons threw the offal from the second run into the sea as bait for a third. They didn’t do so well this time; they already taken most of what that stretch of the Pacific had to offer. After they’d stowed what fish they had caught, Jiro turned the Oshima Maru ’s bow toward the shore-actually, toward the northeast rather than due north. He’d have to tack all the way home unless the wind shifted.

“ Will we need to spend the night on the ocean?” Hiroshi asked.

“Maybe. I don’t know yet. It all depends on the wind,” Jiro answered. Actually, that wasn’t quite true. It also depended on how tired he was. If he decided he had to roll himself in a blanket before the sampan got back to Kewalo Basin, well, then, they wouldn’t come in till morning.

But the wind stayed steady, and the Oshima Maru handled better than Jiro remembered his father’s boat doing back when he was a boy. Sampans weren’t pretty-which was, if anything, an understatement-but they were seaworthy. He steered the boat into Kewalo Basin a little past nine o’clock. Mars, Saturn, and Jupiter shone in the night sky, Mars farthest west, Jupiter almost straight overhead. The moon, nearly full, glowed in the east and had done its share to help him home.

Japanese soldiers waited by the wharfs, where armed Americans had stood before. They weighed the Takahashis’ fish and gave them their price based on that weight, not on quality. To Jiro’s relief, they didn’t quarrel when he and his sons took some fish off the Oshima Maru. “Personal use?” a sergeant asked.

“For us, hai, and to pay the man who added the mast and sails to the sampan, and a fine tuna for Kita- san, the Japanese consul,” Jiro answered.

“ Ah, so desu.” The sergeant bowed. “I am sure he will be glad to have it. Kind of you to think of him.” He waved Jiro and Hiroshi and Kenzo on into Honolulu. Jiro thought about pointing out to his sons how useful that ahi had proved, but he didn’t. They wouldn’t pay any attention.

Eizo Doi was glad to get thirty pounds of fish when the Takahashis knocked on his door, but had his own worries: “Where am I going to freeze all of it? It’s more than my freezer will hold.”

That wasn’t Jiro’s problem. After he and his sons left Doi’s house, Hiroshi and Kenzo went back to their tent in the botanical garden. They wanted nothing to do with Kita or the Japanese consulate. Jiro kept walking north up Nuuanu Avenue to the corner of Kuakini Street. The Japanese consular compound there had become one of the nerve centers of the imperial occupation of Hawaii; Iolani Palace was the other.

Like the rest of Honolulu, the consular compound remained blacked out. Jiro didn’t understand why. No American plane could hope to bomb the city and return to the mainland. He wasn’t even sure a U.S. plane could carry bombs all the way from the mainland to Hawaii. But the Japanese military could be just as unreasonable as its American counterpart.

“Halt!” a sentry called from out of the darkness. “State your name and business.” When Jiro did, the sentry said, “Ah. Go on in. You’ll be very welcome, especially after the torpedoing.”

“Torpedoing?” Jiro said. “What’s this? I’ve been out on the ocean all day without a radio.”

“A damned American submarine sank the Bordeaux Maru this afternoon,” the soldier told him. “She was bringing supplies to the island, but… Karma, neh? The Americans want everyone here to starve. That’s why I said Kita- san would be so glad to get your tuna.”

He opened the door for Jiro, who took the ahi inside. Nagao Kita, the consul, was a short, stocky, round-faced man. He was in animated conversation with three or four Army and Navy officers, but broke off when he saw Jiro. “Takahashi- san!” he said, and the fisherman was proud this important personage had remembered his name. A broad smile spread across the consul’s face. “What have you got there, my friend? Doesn’t that look beautiful?”

“It’s for you, sir,” Jiro said, “and maybe for these gentlemen, if you feel like sharing.”

“Yes, if I do,” Kita said, and laughed. The officers were ogling the splendid ahi, too. A Navy captain licked his lips, then tried to pretend he hadn’t. Kita stepped up and took the fish from Jiro. The consul gave him a more than polite bow. “Very kind of you to think of me, Takahashi- san, very kind. I won’t forget it, believe me. When I have the chance, you can bet I’ll think of you.”

Delighted, Jiro returned the bow. “I’m sure that’s not necessary, sir.”

“I think it is.” Having received the tuna with his own hands, Kita called for one of his aides to take charge of it. He turned back to Jiro. “I’m afraid you’ll have to excuse me now. We have to figure out what to do about the miserable business this afternoon.”

He didn’t say what the business was. Jiro didn’t show he knew. That might have landed the sentry in hot water. He just nodded and said, “Of course, sir,” and turned to go.

“I won’t forget you,” Kita promised. “You’re a reliable man.” As Jiro pushed through the blackout curtains that kept light from escaping when the door opened, he felt ready to burst with pride. The consul thought he was reliable! The Emperor might have just pinned the Order of the Rising Sun on his chest.