A Girl Like You by Maureen Lindley

themselves that they were right all along.”
    The Stars and Stripes begin to flutter on every porch. The talk is all of patriotism and keeping America safe for Americans.
    “They can wrap themselves in the flag as much as they like,” Aaron says. “It don’t make them more American than us.”
    For Tamura, the thought that Aaron might be taken from her fills her with fear. She can’t imagine her life without him. She has forgotten what it is to be herself in the world. So it comes as ashock when at breakfast one morning he appears in a clean shirt and his kept-for best pants, and, as though it has just occurred to him out of the blue, tells them casually that he is going to volunteer that very day.
    “I’m not waiting on some guy I’ve never met to crook his finger and tell me to up sticks.”
    “But Aaron, it may never happen. Even if there is a war, they are going to need farmers to keep the land going. Please don’t go, wait a bit. Wait for a couple of months at least.”
    “Look, Tamura, it will be best for us all if I’m one of the first to volunteer. They can hardly feel bad about you and Satomi if I’m out there doing my duty, now, can they? Wherever they send me, it will likely only be for a few months.”
    It’s the only time that Satomi has heard her parents arguing, although it is more like pleading on Tamura’s part. Aaron, though, is not to be swayed, not even by her mother’s tears. For herself she can’t help feeling a run of excitement at the idea of life without Aaron on her case.
    It upsets Aaron seeing Tamura so anxious, but he just can’t bear the idea of being summoned by a higher authority to do their bidding. The way things are moving they are going to get him one way or the other anyway. He might as well make sure that it’s his way.
    He volunteers for the Navy, a strange choice, Satomi thinks, for a farmer, but then you can never second-guess Aaron.
    Tamura isn’t surprised. “Your father has always loved boats, loved being near the water,” she says. “Hawaii does that to you.”
    In the week before he leaves, he stacks the woodshed to the roof with logs, cleans out the well, and adds Tamura’s name to the bank account.
    “You two will manage fine,” he says. “The best part of the harvest is in, after all. And Satomi, I expect you to pull your weight, help your mother.”
    Tamura watches Aaron walk down the path, not slowing, not looking back, as he swings onto the road. While he’s still in her sights she feels lonely. She stays at the window long after the dust from his heels has settled back to earth, as though he might think better of it and turn for home.
    Satomi watches him too, thinking how Aaron being one of the first to volunteer will shut the kids up at school.
    “See your father’s still at home,” she will say. “Guess he’s not ready to fight for America, huh?”
    “Don’t cry, Mama,” she soothes, putting her arm around Tamura. He’ll be back before you know it. And I’m still here.”
    Aaron had talked himself into the idea that he was doing something grand, something that would involve muscle and guns, but before he knows it, he finds himself back in Hawaii as a battleship cook. He can’t work out how that happened. He had written Hawaii as his birthplace on the Navy forms, adding beneath it that for personal reasons it was the only posting he didn’t want.
    Tamura laughs through her tears. As far as she is aware, Aaron has never cooked a thing in his life.
    “How can he be a cook? Your father has never made himself a meal, never even brewed his own coffee.”
    “Guess the crew will find that out soon enough,” Satomi says, doubled up with laughter. The thought of her father peeling vegetables and making omelets is just ridiculous.
    In his first letter home, although it wasn’t to be read on the page, both wife and daughter sensed Aaron’s regret at his decision to enlist.
Life in the ship’s galley is a sight easier than that of a