“How long did you work for them?”
“Over two year.”
“Then you didn’t come aboard after Mrs. Fortescue moved out, to help with the housekeeping?”
“No. I was there when Mother Fortescue moved in.”
“How did she and Thalia get along?”
“They didn’t. She use to scold Mrs. Massie for not doing more housework, more cooking, for sleeping too much.”
Beatrice nodded. “And the fights between Mr. and Mrs. Massie. They disturb Mother Fortescue. Here—pull in, here.”
We’d come maybe a mile and a half. A small lane led into a clearing, and I turned the nose of the Durant in; my headlights picked up the cement foundations of a torn-down building poking through weeds. Scattered rubbish, broken bottles, cigarette stubs, and the tracks of tires designated this as a makeout spot.
I cut the engine, and the lights. The moon was full enough to allow us to see each other plainly. The red of her lips and the flowers on her dress were muted in the moonlight. I was staring at her, part of me just admiring her, another part trying to figure her out; she looked away.
“What else do you know, Beatrice?” I asked. “What do you know that troubles you so much you sought me out?”
Her head swiveled on her neck and she turned her dark steady eyes on me. Without inflection, as matter of fact as a bored clerk behind a store counter, she said, “I know that Mrs. Massie was seeing other man.”
“What other man?”
“Some officer. When Mr. Massie was away, he would come. At first, once a week. Then in May last year, he come oftener. He stay all week, when Mr. Massie was away on submarine duty.”
I let some air out. Behind us, lurking behind the brush, the ocean was crashing on a reef. “This sounds pretty brazen, Beatrice.”
“They don’t kiss or touch in front of me. They sleep in separate rooms—at least, they start night and begin morning, in separate rooms.”
“Still pretty bold…”
“They would go swimming at Waikiki, go picnic at Kailua, Nanakuli Beach. Sometimes she would stay away, two, three days—take sheets, pillow slips, towels, and nightclothes.”
“Who was this officer?”
“Lt. Bradford.”
Jimmy Bradford. The guy stumbling around with his fly open; the guy Thalia made assurances to before she was taken to the emergency room….
“You never came forward,” I said.
Her brow tightened. “And I’m ashamed. I need this job. My mother is widow with five kids. I’m just one generation away from coolie labor, Nate. I couldn’t risk…”
I moved closer to her. Touched her face. “You got nothing to be ashamed of, honey.”
“You don’t know what it’s like. My father came from Hiroshima, too many people, too many poor people. Here in cane fields, on plantation, my father make nine dollars a month plus food. To him that was big step up. He made more at cannery, but eighteen-hour day for so many year, kill him.”
I stroked her hair. “Honey, I grew up on Maxwell Street. I’m a slum kid, myself. But every generation has it a little easier—your kids’ll go to college. Wait and see.”
“You’re a funny one.”
“How so?”
“Selfish but sweet.”
“Sweet, huh?” I ran my hand from her hair down onto the coolness of her bare arm. “Then why don’t we quit talking about all this depressing malarky and find something better to do….”
I kissed her. She put herself into it, and gave a very nice kiss, though it was pretty much standard issue; I mean, the secrets of the Orient didn’t open up to me, even if her mouth did and our tongues danced the hootchie- koo. Still, it was doing the trick, all right—I was getting my full growth again.
I was leaning in, for another kiss, when she said, “You know where we are, Nate?”
“Sure—lovers’ lane.”
“That’s right. Ala Moana.”
And I started to kiss her, then pulled away.
“Shit,” I said. “Pardon my French…. This is where it happened.
She nodded. “This is old Animal Quarantine Station.”
I drew away, looking out the windshield at the weeds and rubble and cement slabs. “Where Thalia says she was taken…and raped….”
