Bad Indians: A Tribal Memoir

never heard anything, Dad. They had I don’t know
how many sailors there, locked up in the islands in
tunnels. Never heard a shot, just passing
ammunition to someone else, we don’t know who it
was—might’ve been the Japs!”
Box after box, that’s all they did on them islands,
pass those boxes on.
“Every once in a while they’d bring us a bottle of
whiskey. That’s where I learned to drink, Dad.”
Those boys never knew what whiskey was. They
was there about eighteen months in those caves,
right off the coast.
And then the war was over. The whole thing was a
matter of money. This country and the Japs—how
could it get so big? Yeah. I think there was a lot of
dirty work there, dirty work.