CHAPTER SIXTY
FUCK SHERIFF HENRY
Fuck the rain that turned dirt roads to mud and made people want roads paved with pieces of coral. Fuck the fucking inventor of the rock crusher! Fuck Judge Wilcox! Fuck Sheriff Henry! Yes, fuck Sheriff Henry, Captain Henry. High Sheriff Henry of Oahu, maldito Satan Henry! Fuck him for feeding Puerto Ricans into the Hot Box! Fuck Oahu! Fuck!
CHAPTER SIXTY-ONE
PAU HANA
They were back in Puerto Rico in their little wood house with the corrugated-iron roof. The rooster crowed in the batey and the birds sang. He lifted a strand of his wife’s hair and pressed a kiss on her naked shoulder. Valentina could sleep until midmorning if he or the children didn’t wake her. He decided to brew the coffee and bring her a cup before he went to the finca to check on his coffee trees. He stopped in the children’s room to peek at his trio of little angels, tiptoeing so as not to wake them. In the kitchen, he took the lid off the large tin filled with his own coffee. He brought the tin to his nose and breathed in the greens of the mountain.
The morning siren shrieked over the plantation and into the hovels and broke into Vicente’s dream.
Valentina wrapped the rice in tí leaves. She placed the rice and pasteles, also wrapped in tí leaves, on an enamel plate, draping a dishcloth over it. They walked with the children and Paco, who had come by for something to eat. It was a Sunday and the weather was fine. At the Japanese camp, they stopped to ask directions of a japonesa in a sky blue kimono.
“Con permiso, señora,” Valentina said. “¿Dónde vive la señora Mikioki?”
La japonesa shook her head.
“This won’t be easy,” Vicente said.
They heard someone playing a ukulele.
“It’s pretty, not the cuatro guitar, but pretty.”
“Maybe I should learn to play el cuatro since you love it so much,” Vicente said.
“Maybe you should,” Valentina said.
They walked down the row of shanties.
“I’m sure we’ll find her.” Valentina walked on ahead.
“Can we play with them?” Lourdes pointed to a group of children who had gathered.
“I don’t—” She stopped to consider.
“Let them,” Vicente said.
“Paco, stay with las niñas,” Valentina said.
“Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea,” Vicente said.
“Tú verás,” Valentina said. “Everyone will come out.”
Vicente smiled. “Are you saying that the Japanese are nosy like the Puerto Ricans?”
Together, they went down the row of shanties. Men and women came out and watched them without speaking; some bowed. Vicente and Valentina returned their bows.
“We’ll never find your friend this way,” Vicente said.
A man in a kimono walked toward them. He bowed, and behind him, Mikioki bowed, as did Valentina and Vicente.
“All this bowing,” Vicente said in an aside. “Can’t we just shake hands?”
“Buenos días, I would like to present my husband, Vicente.” Valentina pointed to Vicente.
More bows.
“Akihiko.” Mikioki pointed to her husband.
They held out their gifts of food. More bows. Akihiko pointed to a shanty. They sat down on bamboo mats and drank tea in tin cups and ate pasteles and rice in silence and smiles. Valentina wondered where she could get bamboo mats. Only after they were finished did Vicente and Valentina utter the word they had come to discuss, a word that contained their hope to make a better life.
“Huelga,” Vicente said.
“Huelga,” Valentina said.
Mikioki and her husband stared at them.
“Somehow we must overcome the problem of language,” Valentina said.
Vicente took a piece of charcoal and a scrap of paper out of his pocket.
“You’re brilliant!” Valentina smiled at him.
“I’ve been giving it some thought,” Vicente said.
He drew stick figures in a row of cane; a large stick man on a horse loomed over them.
“Luna.” He pointed to the man on the horse.
“Luna,” Akihiko said.
“Trabajadores de la caña.” Vicente pointed to the stick men. He wrote Puerto Rican and pointed to himself; he wrote Japanese and pointed to Mikioki’s husband.
Akihiko bowed.
Vicente returned his bow, satisfied.
On the back of the paper, Vicente drew a new picture. Stick men walked away from the luna on horseback.
“Huelga,” Vicente said.
“Huelga,” Akihiko said.
A machete hung on the wattle wall. Vicente pointed to it, then shook his head.
“Huelga,” Vicente said.
“Huelga,” Akihiko said.
“No work,” Valentina said. “Pau hana.”
“Pau hana,” Vicente said.
“Pau hana,” Mikioki said.
“Pau hana,” Akihiko said.
Akihiko said something to his wife, and she returned with a bottle and tiny porcelain cups.
“Saké.” Akihiko offered Vicente a cup.
“Saké.” Mikioki offered Valentina a cup.
They drank.
“It’s alcohol.” Vicente looked in the tiny cup.
“It’s delicious.” Valentina took another sip. “Ono.”
Mikioki smiled and refilled her cup.
“I wish we had more paper.” Vicente held up the drawing.
Akihiko spoke to his wife and she returned with parcel paper smoothed into a neat pile and tied with string. Akihiko began to draw dozens of figures clearly recognizable as Puerto Rican and Japanese men walking off a sugarcane field. He wrote words over the men in Japanese characters.
“Huelga.” Akihiko pointed to the men, then to Vicente and himself.
“Pau hana,” Vicente said.
They bowed.
“Now the hard part,” Vicente said. “How to agree on demands.”
“Draw the luna hitting a cane worker and then cross an X over it,” Valentina said. “I’m sure they beat the Japanese, too.”
Vicente drew a stick-figure luna hitting another stick figure and then he drew an X.
“Huelga,” he said.
“Pau hana,” Akihiko said.
Akihiko drew a little schoolhouse filled with children; some wore pava hats, and others kimonos.
“This might work,” Vicente said.
They hurried to the Puerto Rican camp; the children had run on home to their hut. It was almost time for the 8 p.m. siren. But Vicente and Valentina didn’t want to return to their hovel after their visit with Akihiko and Mikioki; they wanted to stop and enjoy the night. They wanted to walk to the pond and skinny-dip in the moonlight, to look up at the stars, which were as brilliant as on any night in Puerto Rico.
“Can you smell that?”
“What is it?”
“Plumeria.” Valentina stopped at a bush covered with flowers. She plucked a bloom and held it up.
“They’re so many different colors. This one is yellow with a pink center. Isn’t it beautiful?” She tucked it in her hair.
“Beautiful.” Vicente looked at her.