Flying Blind

“Not at all,” I said.

He folded the pudgy hands as if in Christian prayer. “I have taken liberty of calling him. He should be arriving soon…. Tea?”

A lovely young woman in a flower-print kimono served us, and we sipped from delicate hand-painted porcelain cups as the shichokan asked me how I liked his island and I told him how swell I thought it was. Chief Suzuki said nothing, barely sipping his tea. Then the shichokan inquired if I would like to visit the Spanish mission while I was on Saipan, to meet with my fellow priests, and I declined.

“I came to your island on matters of state,” I said, “not of church.”

“In Shinto religion,” the shichokan said good-naturedly, “there is no division…. Ah! Captain Tatehiko.”

The governor rose and so did we, turning to see a slim, surprisingly tall naval officer, in the more formal jodhpurs and sword uniform, embellished with campaign ribbons, striding across the hardwood floor; that he, too, wore slippers made him seem somewhat absurd though no less formidable. I placed him in his mid-forties, a warrior with Apache cheekbones and cuts in his face where his eyes should have been. He half-bowed to us. We all returned the compliment.

“Captain Tatehiko no speaks English,” the shichokan informed me. “Please to sit. I will speak to him of what we have said.”

Chief Suzuki and I returned to our teakwood chairs while Captain Tatehiko—who was apparently the liaison officer between the Navy and the colonial government—stood with crossed arms, like a sentry, listening to the shichokan, who had remained standing. Then the shichokan handed the letters to Captain Tatehiko and stood beside him, pointing at words as he read/translated.

Tatehiko listened to all this expressionlessly, then nodded curtly and took the third chair, beside Suzuki, as the relieved shichokan took his seat behind the desk, again.

“Father O’Leary,” the shichokan said, leaning forward, hands flat on his desk. “Why do you honor us with visit?”

I stood, to lend some weight to my words. “The I.R.A. has since January of last year been waging a bombing campaign against Britain. Unfortunately our resources are limited. The quality of our explosives, homemade or stolen, has not always been the best.”

“Forgive please,” the shichokan said, holding up his palm again. “I must translate as we go.”

And he translated for Tatehiko. Then he nodded to me to continue.

I did: “We have been discussing an alliance with Germany for many months. Arrangements are being made for Sean Russell to go to Berlin. He seeks aid to fight the common British enemy.”

I paused, to allow the shichokan to translate for Captain Tatehiko, which he did.

Then I went on: “I am acting as a courier in hopes that Mr. Russell, or some other I.R.A. envoy, can go to Tokyo to build a similar alliance with your imperial government. Britain bedevils you by aiding China; they hold island territories in these waters that are rightfully yours. With funding and supplies, the I.R.A. can mount a sabotage campaign aimed at key British war industries.”

Again I paused, and again the shichokan translated.

“The I.R.A. can damage the British transportation structure,” I said, ticking off a list on my fingers. “It can demoralize the British public. And it can cripple the British aircraft industry. But we need funds, arms, and supplies. That is the substance of the message I have been asked to convey.”

And the shichokan translated.

And I sat.

Captain Tatehiko mulled all of this over, briefly, then spoke in Japanese, at some length, while the shichokan listened intently.

Then the governor said to me, “Captain Tatehiko thanks you for your message, and your friendship. Your message will be conveyed.”

“That’s all I ask,” I said. I looked at the Captain, said, “Arigato,” and nodded.

He nodded back.

The shichokan said, “Some time may pass before we have a reply to your message. Captain Tatehiko will speak to Rear Admiral who will speak to Naval Ministry. I will do same with chokunin of Nan’yo chokan.”

“I understand,” I said. “However, I have arranged passage on a German trading ship due to dock at Tanapag Harbor two days from now. Back to the American territory, Guam.”

Captain Tatehiko spoke to the shichokan, apparently asking for a translation, which the shichokan seemed to provide. Tatehiko spoke again, and now it was the governor’s turn to translate for me.

“Captain Tatehiko say that if you stay longer, we will arrange safe passage to Guam at a later date.” The shichokan held his open palms out in a gesture of welcome. “Will you be our guest until that time?”

“I would be honored.”

The shichokan beamed. “You honor us, Father.”

Both Chief Suzuki and Captain Tatehiko excused themselves to pursue their official duties, but I remained behind, at the shichokan’s insistence, for luncheon, with the promise of an island tour thereafter.

My pudgy host and I sat in another room, on woven straw mats in the usual cross-legged Nipponese style, with a sliding door drawn back on a view of green hills rising into the mist. Two lovely young women in colorful kimonos