Michael G. Malaghan
Special to The Hawai‘i Herald
The scream of the air raid siren ripped through Honolulu as it did on the first Saturday of every month. As always, it made Haru shudder. She glanced up at the clock hanging next to the calendar: December 6, 12 noon. Exactly on time. Dutifully, Haru grabbed her gas mask and went to the fridge. She stuffed a half-dozen rice balls covered with seaweed and wrapped in waxed paper into her apron pockets and strolled out of the house. She headed for the designated air raid shelter in the basement of the River Street Methodist Church.