HISTORICAL FICTION By Michael G. Malaghan
“I think I see it,” said Kenji, pointing to a dot on the northwest horizon.
Haru shaded her eyes with her hand, straining to see what Kenji saw. Nothing. It wasn’t the first time she thought she might need eyeglasses. “Maybe . . . I am not sure.”
Others finger-pointing soon confirmed the appearance of the SS Lisbon Maru.
“They made it!” sighed Haru.
“Only barely,” added Kenji.
In minutes, the outline of the ship clearly marked the horizon. The beaming sun highlighted the slow-moving vessel like a theater spotlight. The coffee and food kiosk owners, who had the foresight to bring along battery-powered radios, enjoyed the lion’s share of the day’s snack business.
Suddenly, as if a host of bees had descended on the broadcasting kiosks, the hovering listeners appeared agitated. Then, just as quickly, they seemed to freeze, their faces mirroring disbelief, horror, and then pain.