“Yes-for now,” a guard said. Another one sent him a reproving look, as if he might have said too much. But no one stopped Jiro from walking up the stairs and into the consulate.
When he got inside, the smell of smoke was thicker. He needed only a moment to see why: secretaries were busy tearing up papers and burning them. That sobered him. If the staff at the consulate didn’t think Honolulu could hold, the game really was coming to an end.
One of the secretaries looked up from ripping reports into strips. For all Jiro knew, they were reports about him. If they were, better they should go into the fire. “Oh, hello, Takahashi-san,” the secretary said. “The honorable consul will be glad to see you. He was just talking about you, in fact.”
Maybe those reports really were about Jiro, then. “Thank you,” he said, and went on into Nagao Kita’s office.
“Do whatever you can to buy time. We need it,” Kita was saying into the telephone when Jiro walked in. The consul waved and gestured to a chair. When he finished talking, he hung up. “Good to see you, Takahashi-san,” he said. “Things are…” His little wave was more expressive than words could be.
“I see you are getting rid of your papers,” Jiro said.
“Can’t be helped,” Kita said. “Better not to let the Americans find out some of the things we did here. Better not to let the Americans find us here, either.”
“Ah, so desu-ka?” Jiro said. “Is there some way the Americans won’t find you here?” Despite Kita’s half-promise of a little while before, he did not presume to include himself among the number who might not be found here. When he talked with an important personage like the consul, he still felt very much like a horny-handed fisherman.
Nagao Kita smiled. “There is some way, yes. How would you like to stay here till tonight and come to Honolulu harbor with me? If we are lucky, a submarine will surface and take some of the people who matter to us back to Japan.”
“And you really would take me?” Jiro hardly dared believe his ears. “I am a man who matters enough to go back to Japan?” He wondered what the home islands would be like. He’d been away so long. A lot had changed here in Hawaii since he came. Japan was bound to be different, too.
The consul’s smile grew wider, almost filling his broad face. “I would take you. I am glad to take you, Takahashi-san. Your broadcasts served your country and served your Emperor well. And we have two spaces on the submarine we were not sure we would. The King and Queen of Hawaii have decided to stay here and face whatever happens.”
“They are brave.” Jiro thought they were also foolish. Then full understanding of what the consul had told him sank in. “I will get a place on this submarine that would have gone to the King or Queen of Hawaii? I will?” His voice rose to a startled squeak. It hadn’t broken like that since he was nineteen years old, but it did now.
“Don’t worry about it,” Kita said easily. “Even if they had decided to go, we would have found a place for you one way or another.”
Jiro bowed in his seat. “Domo arigato, Kita-san. You could put me in a torpedo tube. I wouldn’t care.”
“Oh, you might, if they had to shoot you at an American cruiser.” Kita had a good laugh, the kind that invited everyone who heard it to laugh along. It made even a silly joke funnier than it would have been otherwise.
“I would like to go back and say good-bye to my sons,” Jiro said slowly.
“Takahashi-san, if you were going on the submarine alone, I would tell you to go and do this,” Kita answered. “We’ve never talked much about your sons, and one reason we haven’t is that I know they think of themselves as Americans, not Japanese. I don’t hold that against you. How could I, when it is true of so many of the younger generation here? I don’t know that they would raise the alarm. For all I know, they probably wouldn’t. But, please excuse me, I would rather not take the chance.”
Jiro bowed his head. “I understand.”
“Thank you,” Kita said. “I do not want to make things more awkward than they have to be.”
After that, Jiro had nothing to do but wait. He leafed through magazines from Japan. Everyone in them seemed happy and cheerful and prosperous. All the news was good. They talked about beating the Americans again and again. In their pages, the United States seemed a clumsy, stupid giant, not worth taking seriously. Off in the distance-but not far enough off in the distance-artillery and bombs thundered. Every so often, an American plane would roar over Honolulu. The USA made a more serious foe than the propaganda magazines cared to admit.
Darkness fell. The staff at the consulate went right on burning papers. Jiro felt useless. He didn’t know enough to help. But they wouldn’t want to take him back to the home islands if he were useless, would they?
He dozed in his chair. Nagao Kita shook him awake. “It’s time, Takahashi-san,” the consul-the departing consul-said.
“Hai.” Jiro yawned and stretched. “I’m ready.” Was he? He was more ready to leave Honolulu if he could than to face the returning Americans. He supposed that made him ready enough.
The streets of Honolulu were dark and empty, but far from quiet. Off to the west, the battle for Pearl Harbor still raged. By all the signs, fighting was getting closer to the city. If that submarine didn’t come in now, it would never have another chance. Jiro could plainly see that. The Japanese occupation was finished. He sighed. He wished things had turned out different. Even if he wasn’t here to hear it, Hiroshi and Kenzo would be saying, I told you so.
Barricades and roadblocks slowed the journey down to the harbor. The special naval landing forces who manned them were alert, even jumpy. But Consul Kita talked his way past them every time.
Other little parties made their way to the harbor, too. Some of them were Japanese, others Hawaiians and even haoles who’d gone along with the new regime. They had a good notion of what they could expect when American rule returned. But the king and queen were staying behind. Yes, they were brave. Did they have any common sense?
He stared out past Sand Island, which helped protect the approaches to Honolulu’s harbor. The Americans hadn’t landed there yet; they probably hadn’t thought they needed to. A Japanese garrison still held the place. If U.S. troops had taken the island, the sub would have had a much harder time getting in-and getting out again afterwards.
Off to the west, tracers-American red and orange and Japanese blue-made a fireworks display against the night. They shed enough light to let Jiro see everyone else looked as worried as he felt. One of the Japanese, a bureaucrat in a civilian suit, said, “Where is the submarine?”
Not five minutes later, like a broaching whale but ever so much bigger, it surfaced by the pier. A hatch came open at the top of the conning tower. A moment later, several people exclaimed in disgust. Jiro didn’t, but he came close. The air that wafted out of the hatch was as foul as any he’d ever smelled, and fishermen knew everything there was to know about stinks. Too many people too close together for too long, foul heads, and sour food all went into the mix. So did the stink of oil and several other things he couldn’t name right away. He wondered how the sailors stood it, then decided they had to be so used to it, they didn’t even notice it any more.
An officer popped out of the hatch. “Is everyone here?” he called. “We can’t wait for stragglers, not if we want to get out in one piece.”
“The King and Queen of Hawaii are not coming,” Consul Kita said. “They have refused our invitations.”
“It’s their funeral,” the officer said. Jiro thought that was likely true. The officer climbed out of the hatch. Sailors followed him and laid a gangplank from the pier to the sub’s iron hull. The couple of dozen escapees came aboard. A sailor guided them to the ladder up to the conning tower. Another ladder led down into the dark, smelly bowels of the submarine. As people started down that ladder, the officer took their names. Nagao Kita vouched for Jiro. “Oh, yes.” The officer nodded. “When we were surfaced, I would pick up his broadcasts myself. Good man.”