REUNITED

Frank rolled his beige pants up to his knees as Jon watched his father wade into the water. Frank stopped only when the rushing waves slapped against his legs threatening to soak his pants.  With a slight bend to the right he side-armed cast, like a lion tamer using a whip, sending his fishing line over the surf. The lure sailed past the breakers scattering seagulls before smashing about 75 yards away.  Backing out of the water Frank held the rod high above the sea spray in an attempt to keep the Shimano reel dry. Sea gulls squawked at the early morning disruption. The water was warm. The sand was wet and damp and cold from the long night. A purple horizon began to transform into a warm pink glow, bringing hope of a new day and and Frank smiled.

On the shore Frank methodically reeled the line in resting the butt-cap of his new fishing rod on his right thigh.  He kept the rod aimed high wIth his finger pressing down on the thin filament line, waiting, watching, anticipating a slight tug on the line. Over the winter he had built the fishing rod in the basement. Today was the maiden voyage of the 12 foot Fenwick fiberglass rod. Finally, without a nibble he slowly reeled the line in, stopping occasionally in the hope of attracting a fish. Without a strike, he reeled it all the way in. The line sliced thought the white foam of the breakers trailed by the lure, empty of fish. Jon watched his father place his rod in the sand spike, then cut and place a section of blood worm on the empty lure before attaching a triangle piece of mackerel on the lower hook.  

By the time Frank walked out to the breakers prepared to cast again, the pink early morning sky was rearranged. Nuances of vivid colors created by the early morning were muted only by the soft clouds scattered along the horizon. Crisp orange colors streamed out across the water and were reflected in the sea foam.  The horizon began to show new signs of life while the tide started to roll up the beach.  With the fishing rod over his shoulder, Frank brought it forward once more. The lure sailed over the breakers and past the large swells. The line snapped. Untethered, the lure continued to sail over the swells.  Like the string on an abandoned kite sailing away attached to nothing, the dead line hung in the air flapping in the breeze.  The lure sank in the water about a hundred yards away.   

The sun broke the horizon separating the sea from the sky sending rainbows of colors flashing across the ocean surface as the sun, like a large red ball, got higher. Frank stood there in the breakers, with this pant legs rolled up, mesmerized, staring at the sunrise. 

“Hey Dad, are you alright?” Jon yelled as the water rolled over his toes covering his feet. Frank said nothing. He just stared off into the rising sun.  Dropping his pole, Frank sat on the moistened sand resting his hands on his knees next to the board with the pieces of live bait.  

Jon raced over, rescuing the new fishing pole before it was overtaken by the waves and washed out to sea. He placed it in the sand spike next to his own rod and sat down next to his father in the damp sand.

“Are you alright?” he asked again. 

“It’s been a long time since we went fishing.  A long time.” Frank’s eyes remained focus on the rising sun.

“It hasn’t been that long,” his son replied.  “We were here last year. You caught a mess of blues.  I remember filleting them.”  

Breaking his gaze from the sun he turned to his son. “During the war.” He paused.  “As SeaBees.” He coughed into his hand catching fine droplets of blood.  “After the attack, when our ship sunk, we were reassigned as SeeBees.”   He paused to catch his breath. “We worked at building docks for the PT boats.”

“Like McHale's Navy, huh?” Jon asked.

His father smiled. But it was a weary smile. “Yeah, just like McHale’s Navy.” 

The silence was broken when Frank coughed again. “One time,” his father said, “we were stationed on Okinawa. A bunch of us got up before reveille. We made our way down to the beach. In the off time we had made crude fishing poles. It was a beautiful day.” His father stared at the rising sun.

Jon remained silent. He sat on the sand unsure where to look.  He switched his gaze from his father to his own feet, to the water and back to his feet that he began to bury in the sand.  

“We were laughing and fishing with our homemade rods,” his father said as the tide began to walk its way up the beach. “It was a great distraction from the war. Fishing. It was like we were back home in the states and we were surf fishing. Jimmy was knee deep in the water and I remember him yelling above the breakers, ‘Today my only worry is what are we going to do with all the fish we catch.’” His father smiled and laughed staring off at the ocean. “We didn’t even have any fish yet and here’s Jimmy worried about what we were going to do with them.”  Frank shook his head.

“At first we didn’t see them. They came out of the sun. There was no noise from the engines. The ocean breakers masked them. Then one of the guys caught a glint, a reflection of the sun on a wing tip. He pulled his rod up as a pointer and aimed it at the glistening object.  And then another wing lit up. Before we knew it a squadron of Japanese Zeros were coming out of the sun. They were racing just above the water toward us.” His father paused never taking his eyes off of the rolling sea and the light bouncing off it. 

Jon sat on the beach, his feet hidden by the sand. Like his father, he rested his hands resting on his knees watching the encroaching tide.   

“We dropped our fishing poles and raced for the foxholes just up the beach near the clearing as the machine guns on their wings opened up.” He paused.  He coughed.  Taking a deep breath he said, “Jimmy, who was so worried about the fish, was nearly sliced in two by the machine guns.  Jerry was killed too. Their remains were sent back to Pearl and buried there.” He coughed. “Only three of us made it to the foxhole. The zeros split up. Some went to the air strip. Some to the PT base.  I think a couple were shot down. There was little damage to our base. But two more of our mates were dead.”

For three years Frank battled the Japanese military in World War Two. For three decades after that he fought emphysema and COPD. He battled black lung from the coal dust he breathed in and cancer from the unfiltered cigarettes he inhaled.  In the end it was the cancer or a combination of both, or maybe it was everything that shrunk his body and killed him.  

+++

By 6:00 the museum was closed. By 6:30 the staff had left for the night. Jon sat alone at an outdoor cafe down the street sipping beer as he watched the last car pull away.  By 7:00 the sun was setting. Around 8:00 the moon rose and began chasing the sun in the opposite direction. Finishing his sandwich, Jon nursed another beer before picking up his backpack, which had been tucked under his seat and wedged between his feet. Tossing it over his shoulder Jon made his way toward the museum.  He found the main entrance tightly secure. A ten foot fence with a double strand of barbed wire sealed off the area preventing anyone from climbing over.  Walking along the perimeter Jon noticed a dog scampering on the field. It was the same one that approached him at the cafe begging for a snack. Behind a grove of palm trees the dog had dug under the fence. It wasn’t a large opening. But after a few minutes it was large enough for Jon to slide the backpack through.  Pushing the dirt aside, he wiggled under the fence, retrieved his pack, slung it over his shoulder and headed toward the dock after turning to be sure no one was watching. A smaller gate blocked the entrance to the wharf. With little effort Jon shimmied over landing with a thud on the wooden boardwalk.  Looking over his shoulder he noticed the full moon had cast long shadows on the wharf which was littered with various sea birds who fluttered their wings and squawked as he walked past them. At the end of the wharf another gate blocked his entrance. This was an admission gate which he easily climbed over. Past his last obstacle he stopped and leaned against a white post concealing himself from the moonlight. While he hid from it, the moon lit up the water.  Shadows danced across the water as the moonlight smoothed out the water as flat and dull as pewter, resembling a calm lake in Pennsylvania, rather than the deep waters of Pearl Harbor. Alone, except for the spying seagulls, he placed his backpack on the ground, unzipped it and took out a metal container.  Kneeling, he pried the lid open. He took out a plastic bag. He untied it. Looking around, to be sure no one was watching, he walked over to the edge and began to sprinkle its grey contents into the water lapping up against the USS Arizona Memorial. An oil slick seeped up making a rainbow ring.  Small bubbles broke the surface as Jon said, “Here you go, Pop, now you are back with your shipmates.”