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There was a constant supply of food.
    â€œIt looks big,” Midori said as she stood staring out the front window at the approaching city.
    I nodded my head. “I was just thinking about getting off the boat.”
    â€œMe too,” she said, nodding her head. “I’m so tired of being trapped in this little cabin.” She paused. “Maybe I shouldn’t be so eager,” she said quietly.
    I knew what she meant. This was awful, but at least we knew it.
    â€œDon’t worry, everything is going to be okay,” I offered reassuringly, hoping she’d believe me, even though I didn’t even believe myself.
    She cast her eyes down and I instantly knew that she didn’t really believe me either.
    â€œTadashi,” my father called.
    Both my sister and I looked over at my father. I handed her my now empty bowl, rose to my feet and went to my father’s side. Looking past him and through the windshield, I was shocked to see our position. We were closed in on all sides by the land — by the city. Wharves, warehouses and roads lined the waterfront, and behind them were tall buildings.
    All around us were dozens of other fishing boats — the boats that were filled with our neighbors who had traveled with us down the coast. And as the waterway continued to narrow, the spaces between the boats became smaller.
    I looked over at the closest boat and saw Toshio, another boy from my village, staring back at me through the window of his family’s vessel. He nodded his head and I nodded back.
    That was more than I would have expected from him. He and I didn’t get along. Not ever, really, but things got much worse after the fist fight he had with Jed. Of course, it hadn’t helped much that partway through that fight — when Toshio was winning — Midori had come up behind him and hit him in the back of the legs with a tree branch.
    My father turned the wheel and we moved to the side. He throttled back the engine and the chugging of the motor died down to a dull rumble. Up ahead was a gigantic wharf that seemed to go on forever. All along the wharf were the fishing boats of our village, already tied up or in the process of docking. I took a deep breath. For better or worse, this part of the trip was finally over.

.4.
    The sun came up and the first bright rays came through the windows and found me lying on my mattress on the floor. I could have rolled over and pulled the covers up over my head, but there wasn’t any point. Whatever was going to happen was going to happen. And besides, it wasn’t like the light had woken me up anyway. My sleep had been so broken and interrupted and disturbed that I doubted I’d put together any more than fifteen consecutive minutes of sleep through the whole night. And while I was worried about what was going to happen next in our lives, it wasn’t just worry that had kept me awake. It was the sounds of the night.
    I had become more than used to the noises of the boat — sounds of rubbing ropes, water and waves, and creaking boards. What I wasn’t accustomed to were the sounds of the city that surrounded us. There seemed to be a constant rumble that filled the air: car engines softly purring, the deep growl of trucks, the occasional backfire of a motor, military airplanes with their landing lights glowing in the darkened sky as they roared overhead, and the long, low, call of ships’ horns, announcing their locations as they passed each other in the dark and foggy narrows.
    I’d drift off for a few minutes then be awoken by one of the sounds. Sometimes I’d just lay there listening. Other times I’d be so startled that I’d sit bolt upright. And twice I got right up and, carefully stepping around the sleeping members of my family, went over and stood by the windows, looking out, trying to attach a sight to the sound.
    The planes were easily visible — actually, impossible to miss — as they