Under Angels: Chapter K

May 21, 2009

Under Angels
by Jace D. Albao (b. 1969)

KABOOM!!! February 25th, 1942, 03:16 AM. Our kitchen windows shook in the dark as anti-aircraft guns shot 12.8-pound rounds into the winter sky, blackout sirens blaring throughout the city. I wasn’t even an hour old, and Los Angeles was already being attacked.

KABOOM!!! KABOOM!!! KABOOM!!!–

Pete bolted back through the front door with his unlit flashlight, leaving our neighbors outside in their pajamas to shout amongst themselves above the sirens. Fear and confusion ran through the dark streets of Los Angeles as residents pointed to a cold sky lit up only by searchlights.

“We counted twenty-five silver objects, Bea.”

Pete took a knee next to us in the kitchen lit only by candles.

“How’s she doing now?”

Beatrice sat flat on the floor in her bathrobe, tending to the thirteen of us and our mother. The smell of cooked tomatoes and garlic lingered throughout the house from the night before.

“Her breathing is getting slow.”

Pete held his palm to my mother’s belly. She had been sick for weeks.

“Christ. Of all the nights–”

KABOOM!!! KABOOM!!! KABOOM!!!–

Pete turned his flashlight on and shined it on me and my family.

“Thirteen of them,” Beatrice said, picking me up and wrapping me in a clean dishtowel. “All stillborn except this one. He’s a kicker.”

Pete took me gently from Beatrice’s hands and held me like a wrapped potato, shining his flashlight in my face.

“Shadow,” Pete said for the first time. “Born into darkness. Hey there, little soldier–”

KABOOM!!! KABOOM!!! KABOOM!!!–

It had been just weeks since the attack on our cousins at Pearl Harbor in the Pacific, and our city was on full alert. Enemy air raids on the west coast of the United States had become a real possibility, with the Los Angeles Harbor being a particularly tempting target for any enemy wishing to cripple our nation. In the weeks following Pearl Harbor and leading up to my birth, city officials conducted nightly blackouts to eliminate any potential ground targets for an airborne enemy. Not a plugged light in the city remained on during these blackouts. Not even an automobile headlight.

KABOOM!!! KABOOM!!! KABOOM!!!–

Pete put me down against my mother and took a seat at the dining table, his silhouette splashing across the flat ceiling. He picked up a rotary phone and dialed, pressing the receiver firmly against his ear.

“It’s Durante. We counted twenty-five.”

KABOOM!!! KABOOM!!! KABOOM!!!–

Pete plugged his other ear with his finger and leaned forward with his elbows on the table, listening.

“Can’t be balloons,” Pete said. “And they’re too slow to be aircraft–”

KABOOM!!! KABOOM!!! KABOOM!!! Another wave of relentless explosions began. Pete shouted into the phone.

“Hundreds of thousands witnesses–”

KABOOM!!! KABOOM!!! KABOOM!!!–

“Has anything been hit?–”

KABOOM!!! KABOOM!!! KABOOM!!!–

“How do we know it’s not something else?”

KABOOM!!! KABOOM!!! KABOOM!!!–

Beatrice sat with us on the floor of the crowded kitchen, wiping off my brothers and sisters with towels as I wriggled against the belly of my mother. Her heartbeat couldn’t find a groove, constantly interrupted by the percussive sound of cannons less than a mile away.

KABOOM!!! KABOOM!!! KABOOM!!!–

Pete hung up the phone and got off his chair, crouching down next to us with his flashlight.

“It started in Santa Monica. Now Naylor says they just saw a V-formation over Long Beach. They’re not from here.”

“You mean–”

KABOOM!!! KABOOM!!! KABOOM!!!–

“Unidentified.”

KABOOM!!! KABOOM!!! KABOOM!!!–

Pete got on his knees and knelt over my mother, taking her head in hands. He held his face firmly against hers for many moments, breathing deeply through his nose, inhaling the smell of her into his lungs

“Ghostie, girl–”

KABOOM!!! KABOOM!!! KABOOM!!!–

Pete sat up and pecked Beatrice on the cheek. He grabbed his flashlight and got to his feet.

“I’ve gotta go down there. Stay inside. Keep the lights off–”

KABOOM!!! KABOOM!!! KABOOM!!!–

“Keep her comfortable and make sure she feeds the pup,” he continued. “First two days are critical.”

“Got it.”

Pete rushed back out the front door into the dark explosive night with his flashlight, slamming the door behind him.

KABOOM!!! KABOOM!!! KABOOM!!!–

Beatrice stroked my mother’s ears, her whispers smoothing off the harsh edges from the explosions outside.

“Hang in there, baby.”

Beatrice wedged me tightly into the crook of my mother’s warmth, gently gathering my siblings and setting them on a thick towel on the floor near us.

“Your brother’s going to make it for all of you. Shadow the Strong–”

KABOOM!!! KABOOM!!! KABOOM!!!–

I come from good roots. They gave us each just one name: Sam, Luke, Ace, Jackson. Ghost. My ancestors and friends are among the hundreds of four-legged soldiers to be trained here, and the first to be killed in the line of duty for the United States. Over the decades, dozens of us have been buried here at the K-9 Command Cemetery behind the chapel.

KABOOM!!! KABOOM!!! KABOOM!!!–

Beatrice got to her feet left the candlelit kitchen, walking through our dark house by memory. She went to the bedroom and grabbed the ticking clock on the nightstand.

KABOOM!!! KABOOM!!! KABOOM!!!–

“We’ll get you used to this, boy,” she said, walking back into the kitchen. “It’ll be almost as good as your mama.”

Beatrice wound the clock and set it next to me, its persistent ticks mixing with my mother’s slowing heartbeat. She caressed my mother’s face.

“I’ll be right back, baby. I need to get a box out in the garage.”

KABOOM!!! KABOOM!!! KABOOM!!!–

Beatrice disappeared out the kitchen door while I suckled for my first taste of milk, my mother’s labored breathing continuing to slow. She moaned softly as two defined arms with thick leathery hands reached down from the darkness, grabbing my brothers and sisters one by one, placing them in a bucket like an orchard farmer gathering fallen apples.

I would see those two arms again. A dirty cast on the left, a mermaid tattoo on the right.

KABOOM!!! KABOOM!!! KABOOM!!!–