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quickly closed the distance to the soldier.
    He put the boxes down and inserted himself in the little gap between the soldier and the old women. Toshio was two years older than me, but he was a little guy and the soldier was a full head taller than him.
    â€œLeave alone!” Toshio repeated, practically screaming into the soldier’s face.
    â€œYou speak English,” the soldier said, although I couldn’t tell whether that was a question or a comment.
    Toshio didn’t answer. His English wasn’t good — his family had only been here about a year — but I knew he understood enough to answer … if he wanted to.
    â€œDo you speak any English, Jap ?” the soldier said.
    Again Toshio didn’t answer, but I knew he hated that word as much as any of us — maybe more. His eyes darkened and his glare became angrier.
    â€œAnswer me!” the soldier demanded, and moved ever so slightly forward, reducing the space between them to a matter of inches. The soldier was now more over top of him than just standing in front of him.
    I could see Toshio’s fingers straighten into weapons. Toshio knew judo, and despite the size difference I knew he could toss that guy halfway across the deck. That would serve the soldier right, but it wouldn’t end there and Toshio would find himself in trouble, maybe even in jail.
    I had to do something. “He speaks English,” I blurted out, and the soldier took a slight step back as he turned to face me.
    â€œHis family hasn’t been over here that long, so his English isn’t that good,” I explained. “And some of the older folks mainly speak Japanese.”
    â€œYou speak English — good English,” the soldier said.
    There was more than a hint of surprise in his voice.
    I shrugged. “Why wouldn’t I? I was born here.”
    â€œYou were?”
    â€œAlmost everybody my age was born in Canada. Even some of the adults my parents’ age were born here.”
    Now he looked as perplexed as the old women had when he was bellowing out orders. “I thought you were all, like, from Japan.”
    â€œHardly anybody.”
    He nodded his head and then looked at his watch. “There isn’t much time. I got orders to hurry everybody up.” He motioned to the old ladies. “Could you get them to move?”
    â€œUm …” I couldn’t very well give them orders … but I had an idea.
    â€œThe soldier says that he thinks you all look tired and asks that you please sit down,” I said in Japanese, bowing at the end.
    As a group they smiled, nodded their heads and started to shuffle away. One of them, Mrs. Sakamoto, reached out, patted the soldier on the arm gently and bowed slightly before starting off after the others.
    â€œWhat did you say to them?” he asked.
    â€œTo get moving,” I lied. “Isn’t that what you wanted?”
    â€œYeah. Thanks, appreciate your help,” the soldier said.
    â€œSure,” I answered.
    He turned and started off down the wharf, leaving me and Toshio alone. I wasn’t surprised to see that Toshio was still glaring — it always took me a few minutes to settle down when I was angry, too. But then I realized he was now aiming his angry eyes at me. Why was he mad at me? Didn’t he understand that I’d stopped him from getting into a fight? Maybe getting tossed in jail or in serious trouble? He should be grateful to me.
    â€œWhites your friends,” Toshio said through clenched teeth.
    â€œWhat?” I demanded.
    â€œYou think all whites friends.”
    â€œHe’s no friend of mine,” I said. “I was just trying to help.”
    â€œHelp the soldier … help the whites.”
    â€œDon’t be so dense, Toshio! I was trying to help those old women and you .”
    â€œToshio not need you help!” he snarled, and took two steps toward me. “Toshio take care of self. Not afraid of