Harry Turtledove - Days of Infamy

Doi bowed to him when he brought fish to the handyman’s cramped little shop. “You good fella, you keep make pay,” the Japanese man said in what was intended for English.

“Sure I do,” Oscar said. “I always pay my bills.” That was pretty much true, too. Sometimes he took a little longer than he might have-he’d had plenty of spells of living hand-to-mouth even before the war-but he never forgot. When he had money (or, here, fish), he got out of hock.

“Good, good,” Doi told him. “Some fella, even some Japanese fella-not all Japanese fella, but some Japanese fella-get sails, forget make pay.” His face twisted as if he were smelling his fish a week from now.

After leaving Doi’s, Oscar headed for one of the open-air outfits that had been replacing grocery stores and supermarkets since the war started. Most of them were in the Oriental part of town west of Nuuanu Avenue. Haoles came here to buy and sometimes, like Oscar, to sell, but few markets sprang up in their neighborhoods. It was as if they were saying such things were good enough for Japs and Chinamen, but not for them. Or maybe the Asians just took to huckstering more naturally than whites did.

Fish always went fast. Oscar got some cash and some fruit. Dietitians would probably tell him he wasn’t eating a balanced diet, but he didn’t care. He would have murdered for a big greasy hamburger and French fries, but nobody except a few millionaires could get beef any more.

Greenbacks in his pocket, fruit in a cloth bag, he started back toward Waikiki. No buses ran; they had no fuel. Some enterprising Orientals propelled pedicabs and pulled rickshaws, but Oscar couldn’t stomach riding in something like that. Using a man like a draft horse-even paying a man to use himself as a draft horse-stuck in his craw. It didn’t stop a lot of prosperous haoles. It didn’t stop a lot of Japanese officers, either. Of course, from what Oscar had seen, the SPCA would have landed on them like an avalanche if they’d treated draft animals the way they treated their own troops. And that said nothing about what happened to the American POWs.

“Oscar! Hey, Oscar!” Across the street, Susie Higgins waved to him. She was wearing an electric-blue silk sun dress she sure hadn’t had when she was living in his apartment.

“Speak of the devil,” he said, and then, louder, “Hi, Susie.” He didn’t know what to do or say after that. Most of the time, he didn’t need to worry about running into ex-girlfriends after a fling had had its day. They got on an ocean liner or a Pan Am Clipper flying boat, and that was that. Susie would have done the same thing but for the small detail of the Japanese invasion. He trotted over to the other side of the street. Dodging a horse-drawn wagon full of greens was a hell of a lot easier than jaywalking when a truck would just as soon knock you flat as let you cross. “How are you?” he asked, adding, “You look good.”

She’d always looked good. She looked better now. She’d acquired a proper Hawaiian suntan, which the bright blue silk only played up. She cocked her head to one side and gave him a saucy smile. “So do you-good enough to eat, in fact.”

“Promises, promises,” he said. Susie laughed out loud. Oscar knew he had to play it light. If he didn’t, he might want to haul off and belt her, and people would talk. “How are you doing these days?” he asked, and then, “ What are you doing these days?”

“I’m taking dictation-and the accent isn’t on the first syllable, either, you nasty man.” She wrinkled her nose and winked at him. “Happens I’m an A-number-one secretary. Even if all my references are back on the mainland, I showed Mr. Underhill what I could do.”

“I’ll bet you did,” Oscar said, again lightly. She made as if to hit him. He made as if to duck. They both laughed this time. Oscar wouldn’t have been surprised if she was a first-class secretary. She’d be good at anything she set her mind to. She sure as hell screwed as if they were going to outlaw it day after tomorrow.

“What are you up to?” she asked.

“Some surfboarding lessons. Some sailboarding lessons. You know about sailboards?” He waited till she nodded, then struck a pose and went on with what he hoped was pardonable pride: “I invented ’em. And I do some fishing, and I trade the fish for other stuff.”

“ You thought of sailboards?” Susie said. Now Oscar nodded. She grinned at him. “That’s swell. I’ve seen some guys using them. Maybe I’ve even seen you out there on the water-who knows?”

“Like you’d care.” Oscar did his best to sound as if he was still teasing. It wasn’t so easy now.

“I might,” Susie said. “How do you know unless you try to find out?”

“And get slapped down for my trouble? Fat chance.”

“Hey, we had fun.” Susie might have been challenging him to deny it, and he couldn’t. She continued, “Maybe we could have some more.”

“We’d just start fighting again.” Now Oscar dared her to tell him he was wrong.

“Maybe we wouldn’t,” she said-if that meant she thought he was wrong, it didn’t mean she thought he was very wrong.

He’d thought he would gloat, but he didn’t. All he said was, “What’s wrong with the fellow you’re taking dictation from?”

Even as he said it, he wondered if it would make her mad. It didn’t. She answered matter-of-factly: “Underhill? He’s got a Chinese wife he’s crazy about and three little kids. It happens.” Her shrug held all sorts of knowledge.

They had had fun-in bed. Anything else? As he’d said to Charlie, anything else had been trouble. So did the one make up for the other? Maybe it did. She hadn’t stolen from him, anyway, and she’d had plenty of chances. He thought it over. “Heck, come along if you want to,” he said, knowing he’d probably regret it but not right away.

“You still have that apartment in Waikiki?” Susie asked. When he nodded, she said, “Why don’t you come to my place instead? It’s a lot closer.”

“Okay.” Oscar was nothing if not agreeable.

He was so agreeable, Susie made another face at him. “Listen, buster,” she said, “do you know how many guys would give their left one for an invite like that? Do you?” She sounded half joking, half belligerent.

“Probably a bunch,” Oscar answered. “If they start beating down the door, can I go out the window?”

“You’re a terrible man.” Susie Higgins scowled. “Come on, before I change my mind like you deserve.”

Her apartment was roomier than his, and likely more expensive, too. He wondered in what coin she was paying for it, but then shook his head. Whatever she was, she wasn’t a pro. And she was getting by, where plenty of people who’d been here a lot longer were having all sorts of trouble.

As soon as she closed the door behind her, she pulled the sun dress off over her head. “We had fun, didn’t we?” she repeated.

Oscar caught her to him. “Sure,” he said… agreeably.

CAPTAIN KIICHI HASEGAWA glowered at Commander Minoru Genda. “The Army is being very difficult,” complained the senior naval officer in Hawaii.

“Yes, sir,” Genda said-usually a safe answer when a superior was fuming.

“Here in my own quarters on Akagi, I can tell you what I really think of those people,” Hasegawa said. “You won’t run off at the mouth.”

“No, sir,” Genda said. That was also safe when it turned out to be agreement.

Hasegawa reached into a desk drawer and pulled out a bottle of whiskey. He rummaged a little more and came up with two glasses. He poured a knock for himself and another for Genda, sliding the second across the desk. “ Kampai! ” he said.