Unknown Victim by Kay Hadashi (classic books for 11 year olds .TXT) 📕

framed snapshot of the couple in kimono. “These are our grandparents. This was taken when they were still in Japan, right before they came to Hawaii. They’re the ones who first started the farm.”

“The estate where I’m working?” she asked.

“That’s right. O-jii-san—Grandfather—built that house with the help of the new friends he made during the journey on the ship coming here. My father grew up in that house, and my brothers and Millie and I spent a lot of time there as kids. Once our dad was old enough, he built this house, which is where my brothers and Millie grew up. After our mother passed, Dad moved back into the old house, but he eventually couldn’t take care of the place or himself. That’s when he moved in here.”

“I thought this was Kenzo’s house?” Gina asked.

“It is, now. This place has almost as much history as the house down in the valley. Eventually our father got remarried and had another son. That’s Harry. He grew up in this house long after me and the others had left.”

“Oh, he’s a half-brother.”

Dwight nodded. “To us, he’s more of a distant cousin, almost a full generation younger than us. We really don’t have much to do with each other, other than when he blesses us with his presence at a family barbecue.”

“Who’s Reiko? I thought she was a relative?”

“Another half-sister, to us and to Harry. Even though she’s a lot younger than even Harry, and we never got to know her mother even while she was married to our Dad, she’s closer than Harry. Much more of a sister than he could ever be a brother.”

Every family has its secrets, was all Gina could think.

She wondered about Harry’s mother, where she might be, but saved that piece of gossip for another time. She was on overload already. “That’s why you don’t want the house in the valley torn down and something modern built in its place? Too much family history there?”

“Dad can’t seem to let go of the place. All he talks about is the registered historical status he hopes to get for the estate.”

“I still don’t understand why you hired me? Wouldn’t someone more familiar with Hawaii and Japanese history be better qualified to do that project?” she asked.

Dwight ignored her question when he stepped over to another display on the wall. This one had a picture of a young man in a military uniform in one frame, and several medals in another frame. One other frame held a commendation. “This is our father.”

She quickly read the commendation from World War Two, and found the name of Tanizawa. The face in the old picture was similar enough to Dwight and his siblings that she’d be able to pick him out in a police lineup.

“His unit was made up of all Nisei Japanese from Hawaii and the mainland. Very brave group of men. Not many of them left.”

Gina wasn’t sure of what to say. “So, he’s…”

“Dad’s in the other room. He’d like to meet you.”

“Oh.” She did some quick calculations to figure the man’s age. He had to be close to a hundred years old if her math was right.

“He’s been watching you this week from the patio with great interest. Oh, not spying on you, just to see what you’re doing down there. He doesn’t get out of his bedroom much anymore, mostly in the mornings when it’s still cool and the patio is in shade.” Dwight took Gina to a large bedroom. Inside was an old man in a wheelchair, his lap covered with a small blanket. “This is my father, Bunzo Tanizawa.”

Gina shook the man’s hand bent with time and arthritis. She had to lift it and set it back down again. “Hi, Mister Tanizawa. My name is Gina. It’s very nice to meet you.”

He nodded for her to sit in the chair next to his.

“Santoro-san, yes?” he said in a deep but quiet voice.

“That’s my family name. Please call me Gina.”

He took a long look at her face. She still had a Band-Aid on her cheek where Kenzo had cut her lid. “Been in a fight?”

“You might say that.”

“Win?”

“Not this time.”

“Keep your fist away from your face. No need to punch yourself.”

Gina chuckled, realizing he was a lot more right about that than he realized.

“The others say you’re from Italy.”

“I was born in Cleveland. My mother is from Italy, though.”

“What part?” he asked.

“Abruzzo. It’s on the Adriatic Coast of Italy, straight across the country from Rome.”

The old man didn’t seem happy with her answer. “Where are Santoros from?”

“My father’s family is from northern Italy, just south of the Alps.”

He made eye contact again. “You been there?”

“Not yet. I want to visit the family village someday.”

“In Po Valley?”

“Yes. How did you know that?”

“Lucky guess.”

Dwight took over again. “When my dad was in the US military during World War Two, his unit fought the Germans in the Po Valley. There’s a small town there that’s very personal to him for some reason.”

The old man spoke with Dwight in Japanese for moment, allowing Gina a moment to process what she was hearing. It dawned on her then that she was there that day to apologize for whatever the Italians had done to the old man during the war so many decades before. It was a terribly unfair thing to ask of her, but her pay was coming out of his family’s pocket.

“My dad wants to talk with you alone for a while.”

Gina watched as Dwight left her alone with the old man in a wheelchair, the bedroom door closing behind him. She didn’t know what to say once they were alone.

“You know a town named Fabbiano?” he asked. He handed over a yellowed slip of paper.

She looked at the name that had been handwritten many years before. “I’m afraid not.”

“In the mountains. Steep, I tell you. Never seen mountains like them before. Everything there built from stone. Walls, houses, pigsties. Everything.” He took a drink of water, his hand unsteady while