The Bomb Read online

  "War is a very personal thing," said Abram. "Some of our own Marshallese people were killed on Eniwetok, Kwajalein, Jaluit, Roi, and Namur when the Americans attacked. They weren't soldiers. They died just the same."

  "And on Majuro, too," Tara added. She'd gone to college there, of course.

  Sorry had never thought of war as being personal. He knew the soldiers killed each other without knowing each other. He'd never thought much beyond that fact. He'd never thought about their families.

  "Most of those people in Hiroshima were not soldiers, were they?" Sorry asked.

  "I'm sure they weren't," Tara said.

  "They were just like us," his mother said.

  Like us, he thought. Sitting there innocently like us. Jonjen and Yolo and Lokileni and Abram and Tara Malolo and my mother and myself. Suddenly, all dead. Burned alive or blown to bits.

  "The old days, when we used the big clamshells for axes, were better," Jonjen said. "It was hand-to-hand. No bombs."

  Abram said, "Yes, Grandfather, they were better. The best..."

  No one wanted to talk further about all the dead in Hiroshima, and silence fell around the cookhouse.

  After the meal, Sorry crossed the ravine and went for a walk along the barrier reef in the early darkness. On some walks, he'd felt close to his father and had shouted questions into the sea roar and wind. This night he had no questions that his father could answer.

  Later, on his sleeping mat, he dreamed about the explosion in the sky, the fireball that Abram had described, and woke up screaming.

  Three days later, Abram told everyone that another terrible bomb had been dropped, this time on Nagasaki, Japan. He said an estimated 140,000 people had been killed.

  Sorry could not understand why it was necessary for so many innocent people to die once again.

  Then, on August 14, Abram announced that Japan had surrendered. Sorry joined in the cheers of joy. The world war was over.

  Book II

  Crossroads

  Plans for the postwar atom bomb tests, Operation Crossroads, had begun in secrecy during October 1945. Officers in the Special Weapons Division of Naval Operations started searching for a place on which to drop an aerial bomb, then somewhere to explode one underwater. A few days before Christmas 1945, Bikini lagoon was chosen by the U.S. Navy as the target for the world's fourth and fifth atomic explosions. The islanders had no idea they were about to become famous overnight.

  1

  Early in February 1946, a large U.S. ship with a strange-looking bow—a bow that looked to Sorry like the bill of a storm petrel—came mysteriously into the lagoon and dropped anchor.

  Abram was still asleep. Lately he hadn't seemed as lively as before. Sorry thought maybe the disease, if indeed there was one, had begun to take its toll. He'd mentioned as much to his mother and she agreed.

  Though the ship put boats into the water, no one came ashore. The boats went off in several directions. Painted the usual U.S. Navy gray, the ship sat out on the horizon, and curiosity among the islanders grew by the minute. After anchoring, officers usually landed quickly to pay their respects to Chief Juda.

  Along with many others, Sorry and Lokileni watched for almost an hour. Then Sorry went to awaken Abram.

  "There's a navy ship out in the lagoon but it hasn't sent a boat in," Sorry said.

  "Maybe they're just slow today," Abram said tiredly.

  Because he could speak English, Abram had become the island's interpreter to the navy. Whenever there was a problem, a need to communicate, Abram was the spokesman.

  Sorry waited while Abram pulled on a pair of dungarees and a shirt, then they launched a canoe and went out to investigate.

  The USS Sumner had guns fore and aft, a single stack, and two masts. Abram said it was the oldest navy ship he'd ever seen. Despite the guns, it didn't appear to be a fighting ship.

  They pulled up alongside the gangway and tied up to the float. The young officer stationed there seemed surprised to hear Abram ask, in good English, about the purpose of their visit.

  The ensign replied, "We're going to take soundings to determine the depth of the lagoon, then blow up any large coral heads."

  "Why?" Abram asked. Sorry wished he could understand all the words. He'd made a lot of progress over the last two years, but the men were talking too rapidly for him to follow the conversation.

  "I don't really know," the ensign replied. "But I'll make a guess that we'll probably update the Japanese charts. Indicate depths, any hazards."

  "Is that necessary?"

  "I guess it is," the ensign said.

  Abram thanked him, and soon their canoe was heading toward the beach.

  Chief Juda was waiting to question them. A large group of villagers stood near him.

  "I think they're up to something," Abram said, and explained what the officer had told him.

  "If I were you, Juda, I'd try to find out exactly why they're here. This is still our island."

  Everyone looked at the gray ship again, puzzled by it and the need for soundings.

  "I don't want to cause trouble," said Juda.

  Sorry spoke up. "Chief, he's just asking you to find out."

  "Quiet, boy!" barked Leje Ijjirik, who resented Sorry's presence on the council.

  "I'm not a boy any longer," Sorry shot back. Leje had not liked his father.

  Abram, eyeing Leje, said, "He has a right to his opinion."

  "Ha," said Leje.

  The impromptu meeting on the beach broke up.

  ***

  Early on the third morning after the Sumner arrived, a dynamite blast shattered the lagoon quiet.

  Abram was asleep again. Sorry and Lokileni launched a canoe and sailed out to where the water had erupted. Over what had been a coral head they found dead fish. The big coral head had disappeared. Soon there was another explosion.

  After that day, four of the ship's large boats, dragging cables behind them, sailed every morning. They were on a precise course, Sorry noticed. They hunted for coral heads, plotting them, and then the dynamite divers took over.

  In addition to blasting the coral, the Americans planted buoys. As the dry, hot days went by, the villagers saw an amphibious boat crawl up on the beach each morning, usually piled high with steel girders and welding gear.

  With others, Sorry and Lokileni squatted in the sand and watched in awe as an eighty-foot steel-pipe navigational beacon was erected, welding sparks flashing blue, cascading downward. Sorry had never seen a welding torch and had to ask Abram about it. Sailors swung around the beacon like monkeys.

  Many were tall men, blond and blue eyed—so different from Sorry—white bodies bronzed by the Pacific sun. He felt small and insignificant watching them, wishing he'd been born in their land.

  No one was prepared for what was happening on the island and all over the lagoon. From just the one ship had come a whirlwind of activity. Her boats cut white wakes across the water and her sailors swarmed ashore to erect other towers, each taking a day or two.

  Still, no one knew why the Sumner sailors were working ashore and all over the blue-green waters. The sailors didn't seem to know either. A secret, one said.

  Abram ventured a guess. "They're turning our lagoon into a harbor."

  "Can they do that?" Sorry asked.

  They could, without asking Juda or anyone else. Tara said, "The American flag is flying over the island, just like the Japanese flag flew over it; before that, the German flag; before the Germans, the Spanish flag ... They can do anything they want."

  Bikini had been selected because the weather there was generally good and the atoll offered a large lagoon with shallow-water anchorage areas and islands for support facilities. It was within a thousand miles of a bomber base and was more than five hundred miles from the nearest cities and ship and aircraft routes.

  2

  On the second Sunday in February, just before the morning church services ended, Sorry watched as a navy Catalina flying boat glided out of the sk
y and landed about a quarter mile from the beach. It motored closer, propellers flashing in the sun.

  Visiting aircraft were no longer a novelty, but as always, curiosity about who was coming ashore, and for what reason, sent the islanders to the water's edge. The church emptied.

  A yellow rubber raft soon appeared at the side of the aircraft, and two men in khaki uniforms climbed into it. Another man wore a white shirt and blue trousers. He was obviously Marshallese.

  Then another raft slid out of the aircraft. Two more navy men, plus another Marshallese, got into that one. Soon the outboards were disturbing the Sunday quiet.

  Over the six months since the bombing of Hiroshima and Nagasaki and the surrender of Japan, only three or four flying boats had visited, the navy men on them staying ashore for several hours, taking photographs, saying that they just wanted to look around.

  Abram said, watching the approaching rafts, "I have an uneasy feeling. I've had it ever since that ship anchored out there. The Americans are much too interested in this island. They want something."

  "What could they want?" Sorry asked. The war was long over.

  "I think we'll find out very soon," Abram said.

  Chief Juda walked down to the water as the rafts powered up on the sand.

  Looking at the occupants of the second raft, Abram said, "Uh-oh." The Marshallese man wore a new navy khaki shirt and trousers, with black shoes. He was maybe in his sixties and had iron gray hair. As soon as his feet touched the sand, he said to Juda, loud enough for everyone else to hear, "I am Jeimata."

  They had heard of Jeimata—of lush Ailinglapalap—but had never seen him. He was paramount chief of the Ralik chain, ruler of the northern Marshalls; owner, he claimed, of all the islands, including Bikini. Why had the navy brought him here?

  Everyone watched as Juda bowed slightly and shook hands with him. Sorry knew, at that moment, that Juda was afraid of him. Jeimata's eyes were the eyes of a mako, cold as the ocean a mile down.

  Abram said quietly, "The navy will use him. Juda must be careful."

  Sorry asked himself, What do they want? What do they want?...

  The oldest naval officer, with white hair poking out from under his cap, shook hands with Juda and introduced the other officers through the interpreter, who'd ridden in the first boat. The interpreter said his name was Azakel, of Kwajalein; unlike most Marshallese, he was almost chubby. The Americans must have been feeding him well since they captured the Marshalls. He wore new sunglasses, which would be worth a thousand coconuts in trade.

  Azakel said, "Commodore Wyatt would like to talk to you and the people, Chief Juda. Commodore Wyatt is the military governor of the Marshalls, a very important man."

  Uncle Abram had been right, Sorry thought. The Americans wanted something.

  Juda nodded and pointed toward an area beneath the palms.

  As everyone began walking in that direction, Abram said, "You see, Sorry, we go from being ruled by the Japanese to being ruled by the Americans."

  Once they reached the palms, the governor spoke to Azakel, saying, "Everyone should sit down."

  In Marshallese, Abram said to the people, "You see, the government men remain on their feet so they can be superior. It has been that way too many years. We should all keep standing. Don't sit down."

  Azakel looked at Sorry's uncle with alarm, astonished that he could understand English.

  Yet everyone except Abram and Sorry sat down meekly, as they'd done in the presence of white men or prominent Marshallese for years. Not too long ago, but before Sorry's lifetime, women had duckwalked when around men of importance like the governor.

  There was tension in the air, caused by Abram. It was like the hushed minutes before a thunderstorm struck. Sorry looked around at the other families. Their faces were blank, waiting for words from the mighty white Americans who had delivered the atoll from the Japanese.

  Abram remained standing, staring at the governor. Deep distrust was in his eyes.

  With a grunt, Grandfather Jonjen got back to his feet, lifted his chin, and stood beside Abram and Sorry, planting his cane in the sand defiantly. Then Tara joined Jonjen, studying the governor, too.

  Finally the governor spoke, and Azakel, after a pause, said, "You know about the atom bomb?"

  Juda said, "Yes, we know," glancing at Abram. All heads turned to look at Sorry's uncle.

  The governor spoke again and Azakel said, "The Americans must now test this weapon in a different way, and Bikini has been chosen as the atoll for these necessary tests."

  So that's why the Sumner is in the lagoon, Sorry thought.

  Abram shouted, "No!" and the people turned to look at him again. They had been startled by his loud cry. He was glaring at the governor.

  Juda said, "Let Azakel finish."

  Abram shouted again, in English this time, directly to the governor. "No atom bomb here. Look what it did to Hiroshima!"

  Then Sorry's mother pleaded with her brother. "Please, Abram, please sit down and let him finish."

  The governor and all the other officers and Jeimata were frowning at Abram. They had not expected to find anyone on Bikini like Abram Makaoliej.

  Sorry immediately thought of the albatross that had moaned when it passed Nantil two years ago. This was what the bird had been moaning about. The atom bomb.

  Translating again, Azakel said, "It will be done for peace and security around the world."

  "Whose peace and security?" Abram yelled in Marshallese, then in English.

  The governor took a deep breath and spoke again.

  Azakel said, "Many warships will be anchored in the lagoon. The tests will find out how well the ships will survive in future attacks."

  The ailīnkan had come to Bikini once again, Sorry thought. First the Spaniards, then the Germans and the Japanese. Now the nice Americans, first offering candy, then the atom bomb.

  "There are atolls where no people live," Abram said distinctly, both in English and in Marshallese.

  "But none with a lagoon this large or this deep," Azakel argued.

  That wasn't true. Kwajalein's lagoon was much larger and deeper, Sorry had heard.

  Azakel said forcefully, "The Americans have flown everywhere. It has to be a place free of storms, where the wind blows in one direction and where the sea currents avoid fishing grounds and inhabited islands, an area where whales do not travel."

  Sorry remembered that Abram had told the people about the poison that came from the bomb and made everyone sick. Radiation! It could come through air or water. "Let the Americans fly some more and find another place," Abram said in both languages. His hands were clenched into fists; rage showed around his mouth.

  The navy officers looked at the paramount chief for help. Jeimata said stonily to Juda, "Make him be quiet."

  Juda looked as if he wanted the sand to swallow him up. He said weakly, "Please, Abram ..." He glanced toward Sorry's mother for help. Her expression didn't change.

  The governor took a deep breath and tried to ignore the troublemaker, speaking again. Azakel interpreted. "They will move everyone and all of your possessions; provide new houses, provide you with food—"

  "Don't listen to him!" Abram shouted in Marshallese.

  "Be quiet, Abram," said Leje Ijjirik.

  "You can return here in several years," continued Azakel, translating. "Everything will be restored to the way it is this morning."

  Sorry could see that Azakel was sweating. His brown skin had a reddish tinge.

  "Liar!" Abram shouted at the governor. He was trembling with anger. "The bomb will poison our earth, kill our trees, poison our lagoon. No coconuts, no fish—"

  Juda said, "Please let us listen to them."

  Abram shouted, "Letao!" Liar!

  Sorry echoed him.

  The governor raised his palms in a gesture of peace and then began to talk slowly, Azakel translating just as slowly. In another tongue, the governor sounded like Jonjen preaching.

  "You are like the c
hildren of Israel, whom the Lord saved from the enemy and then led into the Promised Land. We have saved you from the enemy by making the bomb, and now for the good of mankind and to end all wars forever, we must experiment with it. We've searched the world over and know that Bikini is the best place for the tests."

  Azakel matched the governor in word and tone.

  Chief Juda finally said to Azakel, "We will talk about it," and the interpreter motioned to the Americans that they should leave for a while.

  Abram snorted to the villagers. "'Children of Israel'? They have rehearsed that speech. They know the right words to use."

  Once the officers and Azakel had moved away, Abram said to the people, "They aren't telling you the truth. I've listened to the radio all these months and heard about the terrible sickness of Hiroshima that comes with the atom bomb. The scientists don't even know how long the poison lasts. It could be a thousand years."

  Juda reminded, "The governor said several years."

  "They don't know. They do not know, Chief Juda. The news broadcasts have said they don't know. Do you think I made this up?"

  Jonjen said, "I am against this atom bomb. It kills people and I am against any killing."

  Chief Jeimata said, "Do as the Americans ask. I order you to do as the Americans ask."

  Abram said, unafraid of the Ralik ruler, "You don't live here!"

  Jeimata's face darkened.

  There was argument for more than an hour, Abram saying, "You know from the Bible that there are animals in the white man's world called sheep. They are easily led and never resist. They do not think, they just follow. They even follow each other into death. Today, you are sheep. Don't you understand?"

  Sorry had heard of sheep and understood what Abram was saying.

  Tara said heatedly to those seated, "You were born here! This is your land! You don't have to give it up! Let them find a place in America to test their bomb!"

  Most of the time the people listened to the teacher. Abram glanced over at her with appreciation in his eyes.