Missing in Action Read Free Page B

left behind, and he had tried throwing pitches at a big cottonwood tree out back, just to see if he could get better at throwing a ball where he meant to throw it—and maybe get so he could be a pitcher.
    That morning, at the breakfast table, Grandpa had said, “Jay, I’ve got a boy from out at Topaz working for me at the farm. I’ve tried to get out there and help him a little, but I can’t seem to find much time. I—”
    â€œYou shouldn’t be out there in that heat anyway,” Grandma had said. “You know what Doc Handley told you.”
    â€œWell, now, I guess I know what I can do and what I can’t do.”
    â€œNo, you don’t. You never have known that.” But Grandma was laughing, the way she did all the time.
    Grandpa made a little motion with his hand, like hewas saying, I’m not going to talk about that , and then he set his hand on top of one of Jay’s. Grandpa had big hands, all covered with spots, and his fingers were twisted at the joints. “I’m just thinking you could go out and give that boy—Ken’s his name—a little help. I’ll pay you for it, half a dollar a day, if you’d be willing to do that.”
    He could hardly believe it. That was a lot of money. He liked the idea of working, too, not sitting around. It was like being a man.
    â€œYou don’t mind working with a Jap, do you?”
    That took him by surprise. Why would Grandpa want him to work with a Jap?
    â€œHe’s a nice boy, and he works like a demon. He’ll keep you laughing, too.”
    He had known a Japanese boy in Salt Lake—a kid at one of the schools he’d gone to. But that was when he was little, way back before the war. Most Japs weren’t like that boy. Japs were about the worst people in the world—except for Nazis. They’d bombed Pearl Harbor, out in Hawaii, for no reason at all, and that was pretty much the same as bombing America. They were ugly little yellow guys with glasses. He had seen lots of pictures of them on posters all over Salt Lake, and down here in Delta, too. Japs weren’t as tough as the Marines, or anything like that, but they kept coming and coming, dying until they were stacked up like cordwood. They liked to torture people too. Gordywas right about that. What they wanted more than anything was to bomb California, and everywhere else in America after that. They wanted to take over the whole country, but Americans weren’t going to let that happen. That’s why they were fighting a war.
    â€œKen’s seventeen. He just graduated. He’s a good ballplayer—played for the high school out at the camp. You know about the camp, don’t you?”
    â€œWhat camp?”
    â€œTopaz. It’s what they call an ‘internment camp.’ It’s out in the desert about twenty miles from here. After the war broke out, the government brought in over eight thousand Japs—a whole lot more people than live here in Delta—and set them up in barracks out there. They say that some of them are spies, and they want to blow up ships and airplanes, and do all sorts of things. But I don’t know. They come in from Topaz on buses and shop at my drugstore sometimes, and they’re all nice folks as far as I can tell.”
    That didn’t sound right. Grandpa always liked everybody. Maybe he just liked to have Japs spend money at his drugstore. Jay didn’t want to work with one.
    Sometimes, in Salt Lake, boys had called him “Injun,” and they’d made Indian noises, slapping their mouths and whooping. Gordy didn’t seem to care if he was part Indian, but what would he say if he found out he worked with a Jap? Then he’d probably be a dirty Indian, not a Chief.
    His dad had said things about Indians sometimes. Maybe he was half Navajo, but he made fun of Jay anyway—when he was joking around. “Hey, red man,” he would yell,