Spirit Invictus Complete Series

by Mark Tiro

  Now it was Kazuo’s turn to sit in silence.

  Actually, we both did.

  “You know what someone once told me?” he said, finally turning to me to bridge the silence.

  “What’s that?” I huffed, still a little caustic.

  “‘Everything will be alright.’ That’s what someone once said to me: ‘Everything will be alright.’”

  Then, as if he really didn’t know, he said into the air, to no one in particular, “Now let me try to think who said that. Who was that? Yoshio-kun, do you remember who that was?”

  This stopped me cold.

  Of course, it was me. I had said that.

  Or at least—I used to say it. Say it, and think it, and live it. All the time, until… Koga.

  Until Koga beat my lover half to death.

  I sat silently again, but then I looked up, into his eyes.

  “For you only, Kazuo-san. I will try. For you only—because it’s you who are asking.”

  “Thank you for trying, Yoshio-chan. I love you,” he said, laying his hand gently on mine.

  I resolved to try to stop hating Koga—for Kazuo’s sake at the very least, and because I had given him my word that I would try. Maybe if I could, he might get out of my mind so that these dreams of revenge might stop consuming me.

  And so—despite myself—I closed my eyes. I considered briefly all of the bad things Koga had done, and then I tried to overlook them. I tried to see him only in light, but it didn’t work.

  My mind would start wandering and I’d fall right back into strategizing how I was going to get back at Koga, all over again.

  But for Kazuo, and I guess for me too, I tried once again. I’d close my eyes and practice picturing Koga as only kindness in reality—as only love. I tried forgiving what he had done, in my mind, the way Kazuo had suggested—by looking past it to the love beyond. Over and over that night, and in the time that followed, I tried to overlook, in my mind, a million little transgressions of his. I don’t think I succeeded, but it seemed a little easier to breathe. And for Kazuo’s sake, I kept on trying.

  At some point—maybe it was real, or maybe it was just wishful thinking?—I felt the burden of my anger at Koga lighten. My mind loosened and I was less tense. Just a little, maybe. I wasn’t sure. But that night, I fell asleep with my head resting on Kazuo’s shoulder. And for just a little while, everything in the world was alright again.

  Everything stayed quiet for most of the next week until one day, just as the sun came up, the shelling started. After living with no shelling at all for so long in the camp, this renewed assault was jarring. Once the mortars started, they didn’t stop.

  Koga ran around giving orders to do this or that. But by this time, we were pinned down in the cave, and there wasn’t much we could do but sit around listening for explosions, hoping one of them didn’t collapse the cave on top of us.

  Until one did.

  We weren’t buried exactly, but the opening was pretty well closed off. We could try digging ourselves out, and maybe Koga’s men who’d been outside the cave foraging for food at when the collapse happened, were already busy doing just that. But inside, we only had so much light, and only so much food. Even there in the dark, we realized the worst. We were trapped behind some boulders that had come to rest where the mouth of the cave used to be. Kazuo and I were trapped in here alone.

  We felt around in the dark, desperately searching for the lamp for what seemed like an eternity. I didn’t have any luck, but at some point, Kazuo did. He found it, and after a couple tries, got it lit. The old lamp flickered, then slowly roared back to life. It did, and light flooded the cave, immediately blinding us just as the darkness had before.

  Little by little, though, our eyes began to adjust to the light. As I pulled my hand away from my eyes, I saw we had been wrong.

  We weren’t trapped in here alone.

  A little further back in the cave where we hadn’t noticed him, with his hands folded casually on his lap, sat Koga.

  10

  Ten

  Other than the mental torture of knowing we were trapped in there with Koga, cave life after the collapse went on more or less the same as it had during the shelling that preceded it.

  At least for one day.

  We could hear voices coming from outside the cave. Japanese voices.

  These were the men loyal to Koga, the ones who had followed him through the jungle for those long months. These were the ones who had burrowed their way into the deepest recesses and hiding places the jungle had to offer, while Kazuo and I had enjoyed our life as ‘prisoners’ inside our Australian Shangri-La.

  We had tried to push away the fallen boulders and rocks, to clear a path out of the cave from the inside. But it was pointless. There just wasn’t enough room to move the debris to, and we just ended up moving the blockage from one side of the cave to the other.

  This wasn’t too troubling, however. From the sounds of the digging coming from the outside, it sounded like it might only be another day or so until Koga’s men would break through the blockage. They had been digging non-stop since the collapse, pulling away debris to try to free their trapped commander.

  This thought made me relax, and despite Koga being there, I fell asleep on Kazuo’s shoulder.

  Kazuo and I finished eating the little bit of soup that seems to have miraculously survived the collapse. Koga told us he wasn’t hungry, and that we should eat as much as we wanted.

  Kazuo and I talked about what we would like to eat for our next meal on the island once we were freed from the cave. Then we talked about what we would like to eat for our first meal on the home island once the war was over.

  “I’m sorry,” Koga said, walking over from where he had been sitting. “I don’t think either one of you will need to worry about that. But you did enjoy what was left of the fish soup, I trust?”

  I could only sit, frozen.

  Kazuo looked at me in silence, a growing terror filling his eyes.

  “Nothing to say?” Koga went on, speaking into only the silence between us. “I believe I was quite generous—no, quite kind actually— in offering you two my portion for your last supper.”

  I looked again towards Kazuo, but he was just sitting with his eyes closed. I turned to Koga and glared at him. Suddenly though, I heard Kazuo’s voice—not next to me, but in my mind. And this voice in my mind—it was imploring me to forgive Koga, despite appearances. And so I tried. I tried to overlook this madman standing in front of us, to see only love in him.

  “I can’t,” I muttered to myself.

  “I see,” Koga said. “But I am not unkind, Yamazaki Yoshio.” He pulled out his officer’s sword from its sheath, and held it up to the level of his eye, running his hand on its blade. Then he turned back towards us. “I see you lost your officer’s swords, when you disgraced yourselves surrendering to the enemy.” He reached down and pulled out the pistol he had strapped to his side. Then he thrust the sword over to Kazuo. “You don’t need to worry Yamazaki. The sword is for your friend Terata-san. You yourself won’t be needing one.”

  I looked over at Kazuo, who picked up the sword, and stared blankly at it.

  “Oh, I almost forgot. Of course, what was I thinking?” he said, pulling out a small military hunting knife. He tossed it lazily in my direction without taking his hand off his pistol, which he now pointed at me.

  “You will need this knife—or maybe I should call it—your tanto.”

  I picked up the knife—or tanto, according to Koga—and looked over at Kazuo. I must have looked white, like a ghost. Kazuo did. We had gone from full bellies, looking forward to fresh air and open skies, and until then—to nothing more than the pattering of the last bits of debris blocking the cave being taken away.

  And in an instant, it had all turned to… this.

  “Seppuku, Yoshio-san. You despaired and simply could not hold out any longer. You have decided to die first, before your girlfriend there,” he said, flicking his gu
n to point at Kazuo, before pointing it back squarely at me. You are about to defy my orders as your commanding officer, Yamazaki-san, by committing seppuku. I implored you not to do this thing, but you decided that your honor commanded you to do it. But then again—you never really were good at taking orders.”

  I would have chaffed. I would have fought.

  But in the end, I just sat there, numb.

  There was nothing to do, anyway. Koga was holding the pistol, and the men who were almost through the cave collapse were the same men who were fiercely loyal to him alone. We couldn't expect them to rescue us from this madman Koga. These weren’t just soldiers anymore, who might question an officer’s unjust orders. These men were his personal fighters. They would obey him to their deaths. Or more likely—to ours.

  “You will die with honor, and by choosing to kill yourself first, you won’t have to watch when your girlfriend here dies as well.” He gestured to Kazuo. “Please do not say, Yoshio-san, that I am not generous however.” He motioned again in the direction of Kazuo. “I have decided to let you choose your own kaishakunin. Anyone you want. Anyone you can find.”

  After what I am sure was the longest minute of my life, I raised my head and looked over into Kazuo’s eyes. They were filled with tears.

  There was no way out.

  And so, with as much formality as I could muster, I resolved to solemnly ask Kazuo to be my kaishakunin. I turned to him and bowed. But when I went to open my mouth, no words came out. Only tears.

  I leaned over and fell into his arms.

  Was it a second that we held each other, or an entire lifetime?

  I don’t know. But in the end, it was the sound of Koga’s voice that ended it.

  “You know Terata-san,” Koga said in a cold and clinical tone, “it is quite an honor to be chosen as kaishakunin.”

  Kazuo didn’t say anything, and Koga droned on. “Serving as kaishakunin after a man plunges the tanto into his own abdomen is generally a job most people wouldn’t want. I mean, sure if you cut off the head just right with your sword, you’ll save your friend untold agony and the suffering of quite a painful death. But you know, even if you do it just right and make a clean slice… well, there’s that. And of course, if you don’t do it well, if you miss, or you bludgeon him instead of making a clean cut, well then—there aren’t really any do-over’s, right?” When he stopped, I think I saw the outline of a smile form on his lips. Then he added, “Oh, and I guess you two might be close friends with each other, so you know—there’s that too.”

  I kneeled down. Kazuo picked up the sword and took his position behind me. As he did, he leaned over and gave me a kiss. “I love you, Yoshio-chan. Now forget all this. You won’t be alone. I’ll be with you. You are never alone.”

  I reached to the tear-stained sand in front of me, and rubbed a handful on the handle of the tanto, so it wouldn’t slip. I couldn’t make the tears stop, but in the end, it didn’t matter. I raised up the blade, and with all the force I had left in me, I plunged it in to my stomach and began to twist.

  An instant later, my kaishakunin did his job, and he did it well.

  Kazuo didn’t miss.

  It was done.

  A Thousand Million

  I’m floating now. I’ve laid my body aside, again. I look around, and my body is nowhere to be seen.

  “Let me show you something.”

  I’m looking around, but I can’t see where that’s coming from.

  “Where are you? I can’t see—”

  “You talk a lot, huh? And ask a lot of questions.”

  “Well maybe a little bit, I guess. Sure.”

  “Do you want to see or not?”

  It’s starting to get disconcerting, talking into space. For all I can tell, I’m having a conversation with myself, in my head. I’m probably going crazy, I think.

  “Sure,” I said into space. “I’m game. Let’s go.”

  “That’s the spirit! Bully for you! You won’t regret it, I promise!”

  “If a disembodied voice is making me a promise, what could go wrong?”

  Then… whoosh.

  Just like that, I can see.

  Defenseless, unfolded, laid out, bare.

  Here, and stretching out forever, in front, inside, all around. I’m inside it. It’s inside me.

  It is.

  I don’t know what it is.

  But I know that It Is. Everything. Something.

  Something… something…

  Something wonderful.

  Oh wow. Oh wow. Oh wow.

  It’s wonderful.

  Oh wow.

  I’m floating now, here, alone. Just me alone… and… and… someone.

  Someone I love very much. Very, very much.

  “Look down,” I hear the voice say, silently.

  I do, and I behold.

  “What is it?” I think.

  “Just a sliver—the smallest, tiniest little glimpse. Not reality. Just a symbol of reality—a reflection of a reflection. Nothing more.”

  “A glimpse of what?”

  “A glimpse of the holiest place on earth. Look around. This is what the angels see when an ancient hate is replaced with a present love. This is what it looks like when you forgive.”

  I breathe in and look. Oh wow. It is wonderful.

  I cry tears of joy and release.

  “Forgiveness extends from the instant it is given, beyond time and into eternity.”

  “Where are the angels? I don’t see any angels.”

  “They are all around. And when you continue on from here, know that you will not go forth alone. You are never alone.”

  “I still don’t see any angels. Why can’t I see any angels?”

  “Forgive, and you will know them.”

  Rising in front of me, I saw. I heard.

  No, not angels.

  A shrieking cacophony of sound.

  A wall of noise and a sea of images.

  A wave breaks. A tsunami rushes in.

  This is not good.

  Lifetime upon lifetime starts to rise up all around. A thousand million grievances—unending petty scores flood in. Resentments multiply, blocking out every thought, overwhelming every thing. Over and over and over—until I am overborne.

  These crowd every space, fill every crevice, choke every corner.

  Images, noise, a thousand million voices now, all shouting, “I am, I exist. Look at me. Look At Me!” They compete and they jostle. They struggle violently to exist, to be acknowledged. To be seen.

  Above all else, just to be.

  And yet, a small, still voice whispers, “They are not. Nothing happened. Everything is.”

  Images come into focus; they obliterate the voice.

  Images of lifetimes and of lives, of relationships and an unending web of clouds. They fill every space. They proliferate here, like a million websites and TV channels, everywhere, as far as my mind can see. All right here, all simultaneous. They stand like a million books, side by side, in a giant library, all finished and complete and whole, competing for attention.

  I see every last little one of these. All at once. All at the same time. All right now.

  My head hurts.

  I sit down; I close my eyes. I try to shut out the noise.

  I cry from the pain.

  At last, there’s a whisper. It’s too quiet, and I struggle to make it out. I listen with all my might. I strain to hear.

  Then I give up.

  As soon as I give up, I begin to make out the faintest, tiniest thought.

  A thought. An idea. A way home.

  Forgive, and all this will disappear.

  An image. A memory.

  One small, little thought. Nothing really. A little wisp of a daydream. Nothing more.

  An entire army, dead and dying. A mud-riddled trench. A pouring rain. A cold, grey sky. Because of me. All this, because of me. A moment of hesitation. No—lifetime after lifetime—of hesitation, of fear, of analysis… I could have preve
nted this. I could have saved them all.

  But I didn’t.

  And now they’re all gone.

  But they’re not.

  Now, they’re all right here, in front of me. All around—suffering, dying. I see their faces. I hear their screams. All this is happening right now. It is always happening right now. I see it, I live it. Always here. Always now.

  Always because of me.

  I am responsible, I am the one. Oh God, what have I done?

  And despite the images—the still small voice reminds me that all this is nothing more than a little, inconsequential annoyance. Hardly a blip that could trouble me in any way.

  And yet it does. It troubles me… in every way. It enrages me and depresses me—a panoply of everything but love draws tight. It closes shut the veil over my eyes.

  I see no more. And still, the images do not abate.

  Please stop, please stop, please stop.

  But it doesn’t stop. It keeps going, in all its bloody horror until at last, my mind is numb.

  I’m done. Enough.

  My mind drifts and wanders now. Not even a thought really; nothing more than a daydream. The directionless wandering of an unfocused mind.

  Choose, the voice says.

  Choose.

  Laugh and let it go. For all you do in dreams, reality remains forever unchanged.

  Laugh, because nothing happened. Love is, as it has always been. Look past images that aren’t there now, and never have been. Look past, to the love beyond. To the changeless, which is forever out of reach of all images.

  Forgive and all this will disappear.

  Forgive, and only love remains.

  An instant now—I considered this. Just an instant.

  It was an instant where I paused—between life and death.