Ishimaru

by Louis Rosas

  “The Fire!” he shouted.

  The boys each stopped dead in their tracks as they raced toward the water’s edge before doing a rapid about-face back towards the covered fire pit. Ryuichi quickly fed the small carriage with a small flame and gingerly brought it over to the fire pit.

  “Throw everything we have! Do it!” he ordered.

  “Hai!” acknowledged the boys.

  Ryuichi quickly set the small flame into the fire pit as Yukichi added kindling setting the pit aflame.

  “Hurry! We must make it big as we can make it!” exclaimed Ryuichi.

  Iwakichi and Onchi scurried around gathering every branch and collected driftwood they could gather throwing them into the fire. Within seconds the small flame grew into a real bonfire sending a towering cloud of white smoke high into the air.

  “Look! They’ve seen us! The ship is still heading this way!” pointed Yukichi.

  Iwakichi and Onchi joined Ryuichi and Yukichi as they jumped for joy and danced around the raging bonfire they had created as the ship came ever closer into view.

  “We’re saved! We are saved!” they shouted. Their many desperate prayers were about to be answered.

  Meanwhile, just offshore, a young Japanese lookout had spotted the rising column of white smoke and bonfire at its base.

  “Sencho (Captain)! Bonfire spotted on the island dead ahead!” shouted the lookout.

  The sudden news drew instant attention among the crew who all dropped what they were doing to look out over the ship's rail to see the distant fire up ahead. Forty-seven-year-old Captain Murakami, a seasoned merchant captain looked out over the rail with his brass spyglass atop the Quarterdeck as his trusted 1st Mate Shichiro joined him to await his commands.

  “What is it Captain?” asked 1st Mate Shichiro.

  “Castaways! Young ones too” observed Capt. Murakami.

  “Shall we look Captain?” asked Shichiro.

  “We must render them aid,” said the Captain.

  “Hai!” agreed First Mate Shichiro.

  “Bring the ship to port and prepare to secure sails and weigh anchor just outside the reef,” ordered Capt. Murakami.

  “Hai Sencho (Aye Captain)!”

  The 1st Mate turned to the helmsman manning the large wooden wheel:

  “Come to port!”

  “Hai!” the helmsman acknowledged.

  The First Mate next turned to the ship’s crew:

  “Secure sails!”

  A loud “Hai!” could be heard from the crew as the scurried to their posts and up the mast’s rope ladders to secure the large white sails.

  “Sails secured! Ready to drop anchor!” relayed the ship’s, Sea Master.

  “Drop Anchor!” ordered First Mate Shichiro.

  With a nod from the ship’s Sea Master, a veteran sailor swung a large black hammer down onto the release sending the large black chain holding the heavy iron anchor plunging into the crystal blue waters below.

  The large sailing ship had dropped anchor just outside the reef as the boys awaited knee deep into the shoreline. Meanwhile back onboard the ship, Captain Murakami ordered a wooden launch be lowered into the water. Forty-three-year-old First Mate Shichiro descended down a small rope ladder strung alongside the ship to board the awaiting launch. Six crew members sat patiently as Shichiro boarded the small boat as Capt. Murakami and the rest of the crew looked on.

  “Make way!” ordered First Mate Shichiro.

  “Hai!” replied the crewmen aboard the launch.

  With a small shove, the crewmen pushed the launch away from the ship. The crew next raised their long wooden oars. On the First Mate’s command, the men aboard the launch lowered the oars into the crystal blue waters and began to row to shore.

  “Row! Row!” commanded First Mate Shichiro as he steered the small wooden launch past the coral reef towards the island. As the launch came closer in Shichiro looked out and could see the boys jumping up and down waving at him knee deep in the water. Shichiro happily waved back but then as he came closer to shore, he could hear them cry out “Oka-san!-Oka-san!”

  Suddenly, First Mate Shichiro’s cheerful expression quickly turned from joy to horror.

  “Oh no!” he muttered.

  “What is it?” asked one oarsman.

  “They are Japanese!” Shichiro exclaimed.

  “Ehh?” the crew collectively replied.

  “Turn the boat around!” ordered Shichiro.

  “Sir?” questioned the oarsman.

  “Just do it! That’s an order!” he commanded.

  Meanwhile, on the beach, the boys continued to cry out “Oka-san” until they noticed something was wrong. Cheer replaced concern as their moment of jubilation screeched to a halt as the boys observed the approaching launch turning around.

  “Ryuichi-san! They are heading back to the ship!” cried Yukichi.

  The boys could not believe their eyes as the launch came about and headed back towards the ship.

  “No! No! No! Comeback!” shouted Onchi.

  “What is the meaning of this?” demanded Iwakichi.

  Back on the ship, Capt. Murakami stepped down from the quarterdeck to demand Shichiro’s explanation as he pulled the launch alongside the ship. No sooner than the oarsmen raised their oars, First Mate Shichiro stood up and took hold of the rope ladder to climb back aboard the ship.

  “What the hell are you doing?” demanded Capt. Murakami.

  “Captain, Sir,” uttered Shichiro.

  “Well? Why did you not rescue those boys? What is the matter with you?” scolded Capt. Murakami.

  “We can’t, Sir!” replied Shichiro.

  “What do you mean we can’t rescue those boys? We have a moral obligation to help them!” remanded Capt. Murakami.

  “Sakoku Law,” despaired Shichiro.

  “Sakoku Law.”

  The crew of the ship looked to their startled Capt. Murakami in silence.

  “No! This cannot be!”

  “Sencho! Those boys are Nihonjin (Japanese)! With all due respect Captain, you know as well as I do that under Sakoku Law (Tokugawa Shogunate Isolationist Edict forbidding travel outside of Japan) Our Lord and the Bakufu (Shogunate) forbids us to save them!” argued Shichiro.

  “Damn the law! I order you to go back and bring them here!” replied Capt. Murakami.

  “And do what? Turn them over to the Bakufu when we arrive? They’ll only arrest them and throw them in prison or worse, execute them!” argued Shichiro.

  “So we drop them off close to port,” reasoned the Capt. Murakami.

  “You don’t know where they are from. Suppose we do as you say and drop them off somewhere near port. They get caught at a border checkpoint without a pass, get arrested, tortured, then give up the name of the ship that brought them there, and then they come after us and in the end, they still get executed! Do you want their blood on your hands?” protested Shichiro.

  “No. I suppose not,” lamented Captain Murakami.

  “Sencho, I want to help them as much as you do. Believe me, I do! But the fact is we are not Satsuma nor do we have a sympathetic Lord who would allow us such free reign to do what we please. I want to bring them home as much as you do but I don’t want our crew to lose their heads at the hands of the Bakufu Samurai over this! Do you?” argued Shichiro.

  “He’s right you know,” added the Sea Master.

  The crew looked on conflicted by the unsettling prospect of violating the Sakoku Law of the Tokugawa Shogunate knowing full well if caught what drastic consequences awaited them. And equally worse how they could live with themselves without resolving this moral dilemma.

  Captain Murakami was caught between what was right and what was law. He angrily slammed his fists upon the ship's rail in utter frustration before reaching for the handle of his short sword tied to his waist under his black topcoat. Just then, three armed crewmen threatened swords upon the Captain.

  “What are you doing? This is mutiny! I am the Law here!” protested Capt
ain Murakami.

  “No Sencho, if you cannot abide and enforce his Excellency’s Law then you have forced our hands and shall be relieved of it,” warned Shichiro.

  With the threat of an armed mutiny on his hands, the Captain found himself overruled. Seeking to defuse the tension on deck, he looked to his trusted Sea Master for resolve.

  “Sencho, First Mate Shichiro is correct. Philosophically, I agree with you. I would like very much to help these boys, but our hands are tied. This is a Shogunate-controlled Ship. They will check our manifest upon arrival leaving us much to answer for upon discovery of any such impropriety. As cruel and as selfish as it sounds, we must consider the lives of our crew. They along with us can all lose our heads over this,” reasoned the Sea Master.

  Captain Murakami nodded his head and took his hand off the pommel of his short sword. The Sea Master then waved his hand signaling the three armed crewmen to put away their weapons defusing the situation.

  “Sencho, forgive me, but this is the way it has to be,” said First Mate Shichiro.

  Captain Murakami paused for a moment as he looked outwards to the boys awaiting rescue on the beach. A single tear appeared in his eye as he sighed deeply.

  “You are right. This is most cruel. May Buddha-sama and Kami-sama forgive us,” he muttered.

  First Mate Shichiro felt sick to his stomach and began to weep in shame as he signaled for the Sea Master to come forward. The Sea Master stepped forward with tears in his eyes for he knew the captain had no choice but to obey the law.

  “Sencho, your orders Sir?” he asked.

  Captain Murakami looked over to his veteran Sea Master and shook his head before delivering his order;

  “Drop the second launch and load it with as much food, clothes, and weapons we can spare then tow it out as close to shore as you can so they can retrieve it. We cannot leave them here to die without a fighting chance. As soon as the first launch returns and is secured up on deck, weigh anchor and make sail for Edo and speak never more of this shame we shall carry. May the Gods have mercy on us all.”

  An hour later, the boys could see the wooden launch sailing towards them once more with a second boat in tow.

  “Look!” shouted Ryuichi.

  “They are coming back!” pointed Onchi.

  Iwakichi raced back into the water to swim out to them. Halfway out, Iwakichi came within fifteen meters of the boats when he noticed they dropped a small anchor on the boat and began to row away back towards the ship in the other.

  “No!” he cried.

  “Comeback! Take us with you!” he repeated.

  But no matter how much he pleaded, they continued on their way back to their ship.

  Iwakichi swam as fast as he could but had reached the breaking surf at the edge of the coral reef pushing him back. The boy briefly went under the wave nearly drowning. By the time he surfaced, the launch had rowed away in haste. His only recourse was to swim out to the boat they had left anchored. Using all his strength, Iwakichi pulled himself up out of the water and into the small wooden boat. He could see under a pair of canvas sails a dozen wooden crates containing oranges, bananas, dried fish, sacks of rice, a pair of swords, some clothes, and a pistol. Iwakichi did not know if he should laugh or cry as he inspected the small cache of goods the ship had left them. He would have preferred rescue to the consolation of a few meager comforts. Anything but this.

  It would take another ten minutes before Iwakichi rowed the small wooden boat back to shore. The swim had taken most of his strength making every breath and row of the twin oars seem like he was rowing against an oncoming tide. Ryuichi and Onchi raced towards the boat to help pull it to shore. An exhausted Iwakichi hopped out of the boat and lumbered back onto shore before falling face down in tears into the wet sand. Onchi immediately noticed the covered crates and tried to take a peak before Ryuichi scolded him.

  “Get the boat ashore first! You can look later!” shouted Ryuichi.

  The two teenage boys landed the boat ashore and pushed it up out of the wet sand. Nearly out of breath from pushing the cargo-laden boat, Ryuichi unfurled the canvas cover to see what they had been left with.

  “Is this is the best they can do?” complained Ryuichi.

  Iwakichi continued to sob away on the wet sand as Onchi looked around for Yukichi.

  “Where’s Yukichi?” asked Onchi.

  Ryuichi looked back and pointed to the shelter where young Yukichi sat holding his doll pendant crying like a small child wanting to go home to his mother. Onchi looked back out to sea and could see the ship’s sails being deployed as they began to sail away. Indignant, Ryuichi became angry and walked back into the knee-deep surf to deliver his angry curse;

  “You bastards! You can’t do this to us! This is wrong, and you know it! You can’t leave us to die here! I call upon the Great Kami-Sama and the ship’s crew to hear me now! You shall never reach port until you do us right! You hear me? You’ll never see home until you do us right!”

  CHAPTER VII

  the endless sea of no domain

  Deep out in space, the USDSRV Red Adair returned to the area where the last known contact with the undetermined first signal was made. As the SAR mission stood, all but two members of the DSMV Fortin had been accounted for. The SAR mission clock continued running. Meanwhile deep inside the Communications Deck, communications officer John Kirby and Spc. Karen Johnson was at their posts scanning the vast region of the “Quad-Threes” for any conclusion to their mission. As it stood, they had one hour remaining before any chance of finding any last survivors alive.

  Holding his stopwatch in his hand, Kirby looked up to the mission clock and to the second set of subtracting numbers below which indicated what time remained on any deployed LSS suits. Not willing to give up, he remained determined to continue his search until the very last minute. Just then, the momentary silence was broken by a call from the bridge.

  “You want to take this?” asked Spc. Johnson.

  “Sure, I believe the captain will want to hear directly from me,” answered Kirby.

  “DSC-COM Kirby.”

  “John, do you have something for me or not?” asked Capt. Cole.

  “Not yet, Sir,” replied Kirby.

  “Time is running out. I hate to say this but at this point, those guys are likely gone, and the chances of us finding them out here in the “Quad-Threes” are not pretty good. I can’t say I’ve ever heard of anyone finding survivors out on this far region of space. Personally, nobody in their right minds has any business out here. These fools only come out here looking to strike it rich. One would think these space miners know what they are getting into before they come out here risking lives for some lousy gold,” remarked Capt. Cole.

  “That might be the case, but until the clock runs out I have a duty to do everything I can before we close the books on this SAR,” said Kirby.

  “You do that John. I know you are the best at this. But in an hour from now if we come up blank we’re going to have to close the books on this one and write them off then head back to the barn,” said Cole.

  “I understand Sir. DSC-COM Kirby out.”

  Not so far from the range of the USDSRV Red Adair on the desolate surface of Eros 3117, the lone survivor of the DSMV Fortin lay amidst the scattered wreckage of his escape pod. With condensation building within his helmet, Connors looked up to the endless sea of stars that filled the horizon.

  “There is beauty in an unobstructed night sky. A deathly peace,” he supposed as he contemplated the bittersweet end awaiting him.

  While it was clear the end was near it was not over yet. In his mind, Connors sat in his flight suit with no helmet before a twilight seashore with his trusted English butler Hopkins by his side.

  “Say, Hopkins.”

  “Yes ,Sir?” replied Hopkins.

  “How much time do I have left?” he asked.

  Hopkins sighed with a somber look on his face.

  “I’m afraid Sir, that we have reached the fin
al hour,” he replied.

  “I suppose we have,” lamented Connors.

  With one hour to live, what does one do with their final moments? Connors had no real means to get his affairs in order or to fulfill some bucket list of desires he may have scribbled down in some note. No, that would be impossible given his location and current condition. A whole lifetime of experiences and adventure was about to be lost and forgotten. Oh, how he missed the caress of his dear wife! More so, how he wished he could have been there for the birth of their child. So much to contemplate as he dug his hand into the black sands and watched the speckles of gold glitter float back to the ground.

  “All that glitters is gold.”

  As the seconds ticked away into the twilight vista and darkened shoreline before him, he could see in his mind, Misami Matsumura. She was playing a grand piano near the water’s edge in full kimono. Her somber keys echoed Beethoven’s Moonlight Sonata as a sky full of contrails came into view. Connors could just imagine what it must have been like to see death coming towards him in the guise of a fleet of approaching B-29’s on their way to drop incendiary bombs destroying everything in their path. Such dread knowing what comes next. He had only to consider what would occupy his last thoughts such as the wife he would leave behind and the child he would never know.

  Connors looked up overhead to see the massive fleet of B-29’s pass overhead with their bomb-laden racks visible to view from their open bomb bay doors and wondered;

  “Is this how it will end? A body and mind lost never to be found?”

  “No Sir,” replied Hopkins.

  “If I am to die on this rock, how should I be?” he asked.

  “Tranquil and Dignified Sir,” replied Hopkins.

  “Easy for you to say. You’re just a figment of my imagination,” remarked Connors.

  “Yes and no Sir Mike,” said Hopkins.

  “Well, in any case, I am glad you are here Hopkins,” said Connors.

  “Thank you, Sir,” replied Hopkins.

  Connors gathered his final thoughts when he noticed Hopkins appeared saddened.

  “What is it? What’s wrong Hopkins?” he asked.