Konosu carefully set the trap again making sure he didn’t catch his fingers and then left the area brushing away any footprints he had made with a leafy branch. It would be dark soon and he knew he must find shelter. He went just a short distance when he came to a little creek and by the banks of it he found a little hollow that would serve as his shelter. He squatted down at the creeks edge and washed his hands and face with the water. His cuts and scratches from the kiwi were slowly healing and he was careful to keep the wounds clean to prevent infection. He cupped his hands and filled them with water and drank. The water was icy cold and refreshing and he filled them again and brought them to his mouth but then he stopped, and parted his hands, letting the water fall out and back into the creek. When the water stilled he looked again and saw: A mussel? A mussel in fresh water? Was this possible? But as he looked more closely he saw several of them. They looked the same as the marine mussels he ate at home, perhaps a little smaller but the same shape, with a brown shell the same colour as the stones they were attached to. He fished a couple out from the stream bed and cracked them together, removing the broken shell to expose the gelatinous meat in the other half and he put the shell in his mouth and bit down on it. He slid the shell out scraping off the meat with his teeth and he chewed and swallowed and joy filled his heart and soul and he thought he had never tasted anything as good as that mussel! He harvested more and feasted on them and that night when he lay down in his shelter, and before he drifted off to sleep, he thought of his day and he smiled as he remembered the taste of those mussels. And he knew tomorrow, he would rise early and check those traps and kill and take a possum from one. And then he would find a way to light a fire and eat cooked meat and steamed mussels and he would live like a king, happy and contented and free in his new shelter he would now call home.
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Konosu had slept peacefully most of that night, the first time since he had escaped from Wakeford. It was a deep sleep. A sleep that comes from exhaustion but also from contentment and being at peace with oneself. But as dawn approached he dreamed he was back in Japan. A pre war, peaceful Japan and he was with another and they were walking in a garden. They were surrounded by beautiful flowers and they strolled under trees full of blossom as the sun shone and the birds sang. The path they followed meandered around ponds that held the colourful koi carp that glided through the clear waters. And he was in love with the beautiful woman who walked beside him, his childhood sweetheart, Kiyomi. She was dressed in her traditional dress, the kimono. And it was bright red and was patterned with wild flowers and white egrets in flight and flowed over her body to the ground. The dress trailed behind her and she held a small white umbrella which was over her bare shoulder and she spun it around and around as they held hands and walked and chatted and laughed. And she turned to him and smiled her beautiful smile. He saw her sparkling brown eyes as she shyly asked him to kiss her. He looked around guiltily as he knew this kind of affection was frowned upon in public, but he would kiss her anyway. So he turned back to her, to hold her and embrace her and kiss her and then he saw, to his horror that her skin was peeling off her face, exposing raw flesh. Then her eyes filled with blood and burst like overripe grapes to expose the dark empty sockets. The flesh melted on her face and dripped off her bones, like wax down a candle and her jaw dropped and hung open as her skull was exposed. He pushed her away but she grabbed at him with her skeletal arms and pulled him into her and breathed fire into his face and he screamed and screamed and screamed until he woke screaming and drowning in sweat and shaking and thought, Where am I? What is this place? Until he finally realised that he was still here. Alone. In his primitive shelter on a cold winter’s morning in the New Zealand bush.
He sat there staring at nothing as he thought about his nightmare and he couldn’t help but think that he had just had a premonition. A premonition that something terrible was going to happen to him or his loved ones, or his country Japan. What exactly, he did not know, but he knew that a terrible day was to come. And as he stared at nothing and the shaking subsided and the dream faded from his mind, as all dreams do, he prayed that everything would be all right, that his dream was merely a dream, nothing more than a reaction to the mussels he had eaten or the total exhaustion he had felt. And as the morning brightened as the sun came up and briefly broke through a cloud, the bush came alive with birdsong and he shook his head and walked to the creek, and washed the sleep from his eyes. He smiled as he thought of his family and of his childhood sweetheart and he dismissed the nightmare, could barely remember it now, and he hoped he would return soon and be reunited with them all. And they would celebrate the end of the war and live a peaceful and happy life together. Together in their home in Hiroshima.
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Konosu had slept later than he had planned and it was with some urgency that he set off back to where the traps were laid by the boys the previous day. He hoped that he wasn’t too late or that he would be caught in the act but he knew he had to try anyway, and if possible, he would try and take the trap as well as the possum, so as to feed himself in the future. He tripped on an exposed root in his haste to get to the traps and he cursed under his breath and quickly glanced around, feeling a little uneasy, like he was being watched. Setting off again he soon arrived in the area where the last trap was laid and he cautiously approached, then took cover in the foliage. Using only his eyes he scanned his surroundings. He sat there for close on five minutes listening and watching intently and only after he was absolutely certain that he was alone, did he break cover and approach the first trap. The possum was held by its front paw. It was a large buck, a reddish brown colour, and it tried to escape as Konosu approached, running as best it could up the tree, dragging the trap with it until it came to a stop, as the chain on the trap nailed to the trunk prevented it from going further. Back down the tree it went, dragging the trap, frantic now, desperate to escape and Konosu stood and stared at this poor creature and briefly felt sorry for it. Then he realised he didn’t have anything to kill it with. He searched and found a fallen tree limb nearby and hefted it in his hand feeling its weight and decided that would do. He went back to the possum that was still running up and down the tree and taking a solid stance he swung the limb as hard as he good aiming at its head. Whack! He missed the possum and he hit the tree instead and the impact jarred his arm and caused him to drop his club. He shook the pain out of his arm and picked up the limb again and decided he would have to try and hold onto the damn animal while he smacked it on the head. The possum had stopped its running now and had dragged its trap and itself around the side of the tree and sat on the ground hard up against the trunk. Its tail was out from its body and Konosu grabbed at it then immediately let go with disgust. It wasn’t what he was expecting; the underside of the tail was hairless and felt cold and clammy like a rodent’s tail. This caused the possum to start its frantic attempts at escape again and he had to wait until it had settled down again before he grabbed the tail once more, this time holding on tight as he pulled on it. He pulled the possums back feet off the trunk of the tree while it still held on with its one free paw. He had the possum at full stretch as he swung the limb and brought it down with all the force he could muster onto the back of its head. He let go of the tail and the possum lay still, dead with that mighty blow to the skull. He grabbed the tail again and placed his foot on the spring of the trap to release the grip on the paw.
And suddenly the possum came alive.
It hissed at him and swung its free paw at his leg. Its claws caught in his trouser leg and he let the tail go and shook his leg to free the possums grip. He used the limb to whack the paw away then he jumped back out of reach, amazed that the possum was still very much alive. It ran up and down the tree and backwards and forwards on its short tether, seemingly none the worse for wear. Konosu rubbed his chin then scra
tched his head as he stood there for some time aghast and bewildered. But then he took the limb in both hands and like a man possessed he swung the limb over his head, crashing it down on the possum time after time. Sometimes hitting the possum, sometimes hitting the tree. Splinters of wood flying in all directions. Fur and blood spattering his body. Striking and clubbing at it as the possum tried to dodge the blows. He was hitting the hapless creature all over its body. Breaking its bones and crushing its skull until finally it lay still, and blood dripped from its nose and mouth, and its sightless eyes stayed open. And only then did Konosu finally stop. He let go of his club. Let it fall to the ground as he collapsed to his knees and held his head in his hands. He began to sob, uncontrollable sobbing, so that his whole body shook with it, crying not for the death of some insignificant animal, but for himself, and what he had become. A mad fugitive trying to survive in a foreign country with his enemy all around him, hunting him like a dog. And an enemy not of his choosing but chosen by others. And he cried for the deaths of his comrades and for the deaths of his enemy, for they were all brothers in arms, playing out the fantasies of the generals and politicians. And he cried for Japan, his beloved nation, over what it had become. A wretched animal consumed by hatred and driven by evil. And then, the heavens opened and the rain fell through the trees and he lifted his face to the sky and stretched out his arms. He let the rain join his tears and it trickled down his face and over his body. And eventually it cleansed his soul as it washed away his tears and his anguish, and his sins and the blood that was on his hands.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
J
ack had arisen early, before dawn, quickly done his chores, threw some food in his haversack, saddled his pony and made his way along the road where he picked up Wiremu who he met at the ford in the river. After the river crossing they meandered along the banks until they were at the bush edge and near the start of their trapping line that led up the ridge. Leaving the pony to graze on the river flats they headed into the bush. Mister Rasch had agreed to take the possum skins off the boys still green, as long as they did the skinning. And he would stake them out to dry while he waited for a buyer. He said that he would pay them 4/6 (four shillings and six pence) for a brown skin and 6/6 (six shillings and six pence) for a silver grey, undamaged. So assuming they were to catch a large amount of possums today, they wanted to get them skinned and delivered to Mister Rasch before the day had ended.
The first trap they came across held a large silver grey possum and Wiremu had no trouble dispatching it with the axe handle he carried just for that job. Jack had brought his .22 with him, just in case, and he had it slung over his back using some twine for the sling. The rifle was a bolt action and a single shot. It had J. Stevens Arms Co. stamped on the barrel and was made in the 1920’s he’d heard. Its iron sights were set up to be accurate at 50 yards and Jack, having already knocked over a few rabbits with it, had also dropped the odd possum out of the trees around the farm. They had brought the rifle with them just in case they came across one of those possums that just refused to die. And because it paid to be prepared, Jack had said, as you never know what might come along when you least expect it. The next two traps held nothing, the third a large bush rat caught around the mid rift and writhing in agony. Wiremu quickly dispatched it and threw the carcass away. The fourth and the fifth held possums and after they knocked them on the head they left them in the traps as they carried on up the ridge. They would collect them later as they came back down. As they approached the sixth trap, which was empty, they heard an awful cry, a scream it was, and it sounded human. It came from over in the next little valley, about ten minutes away, and the boys stared at each other with wide eyes and mouth agape and Jack said, “What the hell was that?”
“Ngahere tipua,” said Wiremu in a hushed voice.
“Ngahere what?” Said Jack.
“Ngahere tipua. A forest demon!”
“You’re joking! A forest demon?”
Wiremu had turned white as he said, “A forest demon. It has to be. It sounds just like I remember it.”
“What? You’ve heard one before?”
“Yup.”
“And what did it sound like that time?”
“Just like that did.”
“What like a scream?” Asked Jack as he looked warily over his shoulder.
“Yup, exactly like a scream. In fact, it is a scream.” Wiremu stretched the word scream out, making it sound scarier than it needed to be.
Jack shivered. “And what do these forest demons do?”
“What they do Jack, what they do, is they eat children. They eat children Jack. ALIVE!” Said Wiremu a little hysterically.
Jack frowned. “How do you know they eat children?”
“My uncle told me. He told me that if you hear the scream then you’re too late. It means it’s smelt you and it’s now stalking you, and that you might as well give up ‘cause you will never outrun it ‘cause its quicker than light. And it can make itself invisible anyway, so you wouldn’t know if you were running away from it or towards it. So we may as well give up now Jack and just wait for it to find us and eat us!” And he sat on the ground and held his head in his hands.
Jack sighed. “When did you last hear one?”
“A long time ago when I was camping with my uncle. He told me and my tuakana (brother) about it as we sat around the fire. And when we went to bed that night we heard it, far off in the bush, screaming just like that one did, exactly the same.”
“So what happened?”
Wiremu lifted his head. “Well we were really scared and we didn’t know what to do and we thought that we were going to die. Then we heard something outside our piringa (shelter). You know rustling and something walking around it and moaning and things. And we held each other and I think my brother pissed his pants, and we both started crying. Then luckily for us, our uncle came in and he told us it was alright, that he had chased the tipua away and not to worry anymore.”
“Really? You don’t think it could’ve been your uncle making those noises?” Asked Jack a little sceptically.
Wiremu shook his head. “No way, why would he. Why would he do that for? Nah, that’d just be dumb Jack.”
“Well I’m not going to wait here for the forest demon, I’ve got me rifle and I’m going to take a look and see if I can’t see what made that noise!” Jack raised his eyebrows. “So what are you going to do? Come with me or wait here to be eaten?”
Wiremu shrugged. “Um, well I ‘spose I might as well come. Won’t make any difference now anyway. And that rifle will be useless. I told ya Jack, they can make themselves invisible!” He said as he got to his feet and followed Jack.
Shaking his head Jack loaded the rifle but kept the bolt at half cock, like he’d been shown, as they headed off in the direction of the scream. They ignored their traps as they went and stopped every so often to listen for any noise. It wasn’t long before they heard something coming towards them and they took cover just in time to see a small man in dark clothing and a hat, trip on an exposed root, curse, and then stop and look around. The boys were above him and well hidden and they held their breath as he passed below them, only a few feet away and then continued on. The boys could see their last trap clearly and the large red possum it held. They watched the man as he closed in on the trap. Then he stopped, and waited for what seemed like an eternity. He was looking around and at one time his eyes passed right over the boys. They both sucked in their breaths and tried not to move as they thought they’d been seen, but his eyes drifted past, not spotting them at all in the dense bush. Both Jack and Wiremu had recognised that this man was different, in fact different from anyone they had ever seen before, he was smaller than most men and his eyes were half closed, like slits, instead of round and open like theirs. The man reminded Jack of one of the brothers from the book he had seen at school ‘The Five Chinese Brothers’, it was called. He had liked the story very much. It was about a man who swallows all the water in t
he sea so that a boy can retrieve all the fish and treasures from the ocean floor. Except the boy gets greedy and won’t come back when he’s called and the Chinese brother lets all the water back out of his mouth and drowns the boy. And so it went on from there. Jack always thought that that was a good lesson on not being greedy and he vowed that if he ever found himself in that situation and someone called him back from the bottom of the sea, well he would come quickly and without argument that’s for sure. But looking at this man Jack was pretty sure this man was not Chinese. In fact he was pretty sure that this man was Japanese. And that he was the escaped prisoner from Wakeford. The one everybody had given up for dead.
They watched the man as he picked up a tree limb and tried to kill the possum with it. They had to stifle a giggle when the man went to release the possum from the trap only to find it still alive and attacking him. But his antics worried them after that. The way he went crazy and repeatedly hit the possum. Then as it started to rain, the way he collapsed and cried and held his arms out and face up to the rain. Yep, this man was definitely weird. Jack nodded to Wiremu and taking advantage of the noise from the rain and that the man was in some sort of trance, and was still on his knees, left their cover and sneaked up behind him.
“Hands on your head right now!” Ordered Jack as he prodded the barrel of the rifle against the man’s back.
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