Under the Blood-Red Sun by Graham Salisbury Page B

buildings with laundry hanging from every window. I loved that place. I’d been down there on Japanese festival days with my family, and many times with Papa to see his fishermen friends. Once in a while I even went with Mama and Kimi to visit Mama’s old picture-bride acquaintances.
    As we walked Billy got quiet, like he was trying to hide. I couldn’t blame him. You didn’t see many
haoles
down there. Everyone noticed him, with his blond hair and baby-pink face.
    Ahead of us seven boys, all Japanese, hung around blocking the way to the park. We had to walk through them or else cross the street like cowards. But Rico and Mose weren’t about to cross any street for anybody.
    “Now we’ve had it,” I whispered.
    “What, from those punks?” Rico pulled a stick match out of his pocket and stuck it in his mouth like a toothpick.
    We kept walking, Rico strutting ahead. The gang slowly bunched up, but Rico kept on going straight at them. If a fight broke out I’d yell
“Police, police,”
and hope they’d run for it.
    Rico moved up, nose to nose with the biggest guy, except that Rico’s nose was only at the guy’s chin. But Rico just stood there with the stick match almost touching the big guy’s neck. Nobody said a word. Seven boys giving us deadly looks.
    Rico pushed on past, then turned and looked back with his hands on his hips, waiting for me and Mose and Billy.
    Mose turned sideways and bumped his way through. Then me, so close I could smell the oil on the guy’s hair and see the small pin-sized pimples on his chin.
    But when Billy tried to pass, the big guy stepped in front of him.
    Billy started over to the other side of the street. One of the smaller guys followed in front of him, blocking his way step for step.
    Billy stopped and looked over at us. The guy kept staring at him, about two inches from his face. But Billy ignored him. He wasn’t afraid. He just didn’t like trouble.
    The big guy came up to me. “How come you bring these
haoles
down this place?”
    Rico pushed me out of the way. He spit the stick match out of his mouth. “Who you calling one
haole?”
    The big guy nodded his head toward Billy. “The lily-white punk over there … and you, too, in fack … yeah, you.” He put his fingertips on Rico’s chest and pushed him back.
    Bok!
    Rico landed one good punch. The big guy fell to the ground.
    “Hey!” someone up the street yelled. “Hold it!”
    A guy ran up to us, a man with a ballahead army-kind haircut. He was short, but he had big muscles. “Beat it,” he said to the gang guys. “We don’t need no trouble around here.”
    The big guy scrambled up, covering his eye. He seemed to know the ballahead man. He glared at Rico, then backed away. The rest of his gang looked at us like they wanted to tear our heads off. Finally they turned and disappeared into an alley.
    “No worry about them,” the man said. “They won’t bother you if I’m around. They dumb, but they not stupit.” He glanced over at Billy and smiled. “Hey … I know you. You the pitcher, yeah? Hoo, man, you good. What’s your name?”
    “Billy.”
    The man glanced at the rest of us. “I seen you guys too. You the team play my kid brother. Herbie Okubo … you know him? The kid play second base?”
    “Oh, yeah,” Mose said. “He’s pretty good.”
    The man shook his head. “The bugga work hard.… I never seen a kid practice like that. So, what you boys doing down Kaka’ako?”
    “We heard they got a new pitcher,” Billy said.
    “Yeah,” Rico added. “We heard he was six feet, maybe seven.”
    “Maybe eight. That’s all Herbie been talking about for the last week,” the man said, shaking his head. “How’s about I come with you? I never seen him yet either.”
    “Sure,” Mose said.
    The man put his arm on Billy’s shoulder. “Come on,
haole
. You welcome in this neighborhood. No worry about those punks. They always like that. Hell, I used to be like that myself.… No mean nothing, they