Free Under the Blood-Red Sun by Graham Salisbury

moved up and down as he strode deeper into the darkness ahead of me. I tried to forget about Keet and think about Grampa. I thought about how he came to join Papa in Hawaii after Grandma had died.
    He came here to be a fisherman, like Papa had long before I was born. Grampa still had his old purple-colored passport hidden safely under Grandma’s altar. He was proud of that purple color. Back in the olden days they had two kinds, purple and green: green for contract workers, who had to work and then go home,and purple was for the guys who came with their own businesses and skills, and could stay in the islands Grampa’s business was boats and fishing.
    I wondered if even now Grampa still needed his passport because he wasn’t allowed to be an American citizen. I was, because I was born here. But the law wouldn’t allow Grampa. Or Mama and Papa. Papa said the
haole
wanted Japanese to come work, but not stay around afterward. But most people did stay.
    In Japan, Papa told me, Grampa was very well respected. He had a lot of friends. But he missed Papa and came to the islands. When he got here he was pretty lonely and hardly spoke to anyone, even to Papa. Then he met Charlie and went back to his old self. Grampa learned to speak English from Charlie.
    You had to love that old man. He did what he wanted, no matter what. And he didn’t always back away from trouble, like Papa wanted me to do. If Grampa had been me, he would have busted Keet Wilson’s nose already. I was sure of it.

Thunder on the Moon
    Toward the end of October something very strange happened. Billy and I had gotten off the bus after school and were walking up to our street. When we got there we saw a brand-new car, a blue Cadillac, waiting to turn out onto the main road.
    “Whose car is that?”
    “I don’t know,” Billy said, “but it must have cost a couple of bucks.”
    “You can say that again.”
    “I don’t know, but it must have cost a couple of bucks.”
    “Shuddup,” I said, poking him with my elbow.
    When we got closer, I saw that the driver was Mr. Wilson. Billy and I both waved, but Mr. Wilson just glaredat us, giving us the worst stink eye I’d seen since we beat the Kaka’ako Boys.
    “What’s
his
problem?” I whispered to Billy.
    “Who knows?”
    I turned away as we walked past. It was so strange. He’d never been like that to us before. When I couldn’t stand it anymore, I glanced back to see if he was still looking at us. He was. You could see his eyes in the rear view mirror.
    “He’s still looking,” I said.
    Billy turned to see for himself.
    We started walking again.
    Just then the car’s tires squealed. Billy and I spun around and saw the Cadillac backing up, coming toward us fast. We jumped out of the way as the car slid to a stop. Mr. Wilson leaned over and rolled down the window.
    “Come here,” he said.
    Billy and I stood there gaping at him. I thought he wanted Billy, because Mr. Wilson hardly ever said a word to me.
    “You,” Mr. Wilson said, pointing his finger at me.
    “Me?” I stepped closer to the window and leaned down. Mr. Wilson glared back at me. His neck sagged over the collar of his starched white shirt.
    “Listen to this, boy,” he said in a low voice. “You people are walking on mighty thin ice around here.” I didn’t even breathe. For a moment, he wagged his finger at me without saying anything. Then, in almost a whisper he said, “You tell your father I don’t want to see any more of that Jap crap around my place … you understand?”
    I nodded.
    Mr. Wilson stepped on the gas. The car spit dust and little rocks out when it took off.
    “What did he want?” Billy asked.
    My hands started to tremble. “I don’t know.… I better go home.”
    I hurried down the road toward my house with Billy running to keep up.
Jap crap?
What did Mr. Wilson mean?
    •   •   •
    We ran up the trail, through the trees, and burst out into the open. No one in sight. What was Mr.