At that point, Matsumoto tried to smile but fell into a coughing fit. When he recovered, he nodded and grinned as if he’d accomplished some formidable task. I thought he looked awfully old for his age. But then I felt guilty for thinking so. Matsumoto took another sip from his bottle and put it back on the table. Then he gave a self-deprecating smile and continued:
—I’d also like to ask that you not reply to this video. Not by mail, and not by phone. I know it’s rude just sending you this video and Jay’s memento, and telling you not to reply. But, uh, that’s exactly what I’m asking. This is just too much for me to handle right now. No matter what you say, whether you accept or not, I’ll get emotional. And emotion, whether it’s happiness or disappointment, just really drains me. I guess I’m putting even more pressure on you, aren’t I? But, really, I’d appreciate if you wouldn’t reply. I’m sorry, but let me end here for today....
The screen went dark for a second or two, and then Matsumoto reappeared. I stopped the video and got another can of beer from the refrigerator. After returning to the sofa, I picked up the pendant on the table and slowly looked it over. The point that had stabbed Jay’s grandfather was so worn down, either from the passing of sixty years or from having been filed down, that it couldn’t even pierce the skin. The barbs on the sides, however, were sharp enough to hurt when I pushed them against my finger. From Matsumoto’s explanation, I didn’t know where Jay’s grandfather had been stabbed, but I remembered Matsumoto saying that he was swimming at the time. I pictured a young man hiding in the coral as he waited for the US soldiers.
The man in my imagination was waiting with his harpoon for hours. Suddenly, ripples appeared on the silvery surface, followed by the silhouette of a long-limbed American, crawling through the water. The man pushed off from the coral and sped toward the surface. Like a marlin, he sliced through the water with his harpoon. When he plunged it into the soldier’s abdomen, plumes of blood spread out across the glittering surface.
My grandmother once told me that during the war, men and women, young and old alike, trained with bamboo spears. Using a harpoon must’ve seemed equally futile. And yet, that young man managed to wound one of their soldiers. His action probably didn’t have any impact on the war. In fact, his act of defiance might’ve caused the islanders to suffer some sort of retaliation. Still, I couldn’t help feeling deeply moved. With a single harpoon, a solitary islander had struck a blow against the US military. And the wounded American considered him courageous.
The video resumed on what appeared to be a different day. Matsumoto was wearing a dark blue T-shirt, and his face looked brighter. Having watched this far, I’d noticed that Matsumoto had been growing more lethargic as he continued. I’d assumed that would happen again. This time, however, Matsumoto spoke with strength and conviction. There was an urgency in his voice, as if he were saying something that must be said.
—Just one last thing. Jay’s death was regrettable, but I can’t completely dismiss what happened on 9/11. Sure, indiscriminate terrorism is wrong, and we shouldn’t accept the chain of violence. But saying that won’t get us anywhere. Those of us in Japan, who enjoy the peace we rely on America to provide, can say whatever we like. But, you know, our words have no meaning to people planning second or third 9/11’s all round the world. I don’t know, but if there’s anyone in Japan who can understand the meaning of 9/11, wouldn’t it be that guy who stabbed that American sixty years ago? I mean, if he’s still alive. Because you know what? And I know it’s just my own wild imagination. But as I was staring at the pendant and thinking about that guy, the shape of the harpoon point began to look like one of those planes that flew into the towers. Yeah, I know. I can hear you laughing at my deluded idea. But I’m telling you, for a split second, that’s exactly what it looked like. So not just for Jay and Kate, or for Jay’s father and grandfather, but also for that guy from the island. Throw that harpoon head into the ocean. Throw it right where Jay’s grandfather and that man fought. I know my request sounds sentimental. And I don’t want you to feel unpleasant. But please, please go to the island when it’s convenient. I don’t have the strength, and I don’t have much time left. So I’m asking you, as my one final dying request. Sorry for ending like this, but I’m counting on you....
After a slight nod, Matsumoto stared straight at me from the other side of the screen. And just like that, the video ended. I rewound the tape and finished off my beer. I knew I’d fulfill Matsumoto’s request, but I hadn’t processed everything yet. I picked up the pendant on the table and draped the chain over my fingers, so that the harpoon head dangled before my eyes. If you viewed the barbs of the V-shaped head as the main wings, you could see a slight resemblance to a plane. Still, I had to admit Matsumoto’s comparison was a strained one.
I put the pendant back in the envelope, took the video out of the player, and placed them both on the table. Then I glanced over at the calendar on the wall to consider when I’d be able to go to the island. It’d be June in another week. At this time sixty years ago, I muttered to myself, Okinawa was a battlefield. My heart stirred. A dark red stain spread out on the envelope. I pulled out the pendant, and a smell of blood wafted up from the shiny, black harpoon tip. I thought I heard the sound of waves in the distance, so I glanced around the room. The furniture and various items under the fluorescent lights were still lifeless objects in their regular places. The harpoon tip smelled and looked like an organ plucked from the body of a living organism. For the first time in a long while, I wanted to return to my hometown. But the ache that filled my heart puzzled me. The sound of waves drew nearer. This time, I was sure that’s what I heard.
JAY’S GRANDFATHER [1945]
The red lump floating in the darkness wriggled and divided into cells again. It was the fruit of some kind of palm tree that grows along the beaches of this island. Instead of straight trunks, however, these trees have twisted ones that crawl along the ground with their skinny, thorny leaves. A girl lying on her back in the sand was staring up at the red fruit. Her lower body was sticky and disgusting. Wafting up from her was the stink of crushed plants and bodily fluids, including sweat and blood.
—Shut up and stop crying! one of my buddies yelled from behind.
But the terrified girl’s crying only intensified.
The red fruit looked like a huge snake eye glowing in the dark. The first time I saw one was just after we’d landed on the main island. Jumping off the landing craft, I had lost my footing in the surf. As I stumbled forward, I held my gun over my head so it wouldn’t get wet. Choking on seawater, I regained my balance and rushed to shore. If I didn’t keep moving, I’d get a bullet in the head. Screaming, Run! Son of a bitch! Run! I dashed up the sandy beach to a thicket, where those fruit were lying in wait. Just like now, the repulsive objects looked like the eyes of snakes ready to strike.
The girl’s face was battered and swollen; her lips, mangled and oozing blood. Her vacant eyes avoided mine and stared blankly at the red fruit dangling behind my head—as if I didn’t even exist. I grabbed her jaw, turned her face toward mine, and screamed:
—Look at me, goddamn it!
As I violently moved my hips, a chunk of the fruit separated along the grenade-like notches and came flying toward me. I felt a spear rip into my body, and then saw blood gushing from my side. As I frantically pressed down to stop the bleeding, I woke up. The intense pain in my side, however, wasn’t a dream.
I was so drenched in sweat that even my cot was wet. Two other rows of beds were visible by the moonlight coming through the window. Some of the wounded were awake, due to the heat or their own private pain, and I could hear them moaning and cursing. I looked at my watch. It was ten o’clock in the evening. I was tired of the long waits until morning. Sleeping during the day meant you paid for it at night, alone with the agony of your wounds and the torment of your memories.
I hated the medic on night duty. When I was in pain and asked for sleeping pills, he condescendingly said that prior
ity went to those wounded in actual combat. Normally, I would’ve floored the bastard, but even sitting up was an excruciating ordeal, so I couldn’t even complain. A gecko was on a crossbeam of the ceiling, directly above me. I was worried he might fall. We were in a school building, which had been requisitioned for use as a hospital. My bed was near the hallway in a classroom filled with wounded GIs. The gecko mocked us with its cries. I reached down and touched the bandages on my side. The wound was warmer than I’d expected. Fuckin’ Jap! I muttered to myself, triggering a memory of a conversation between a couple of fellows in my outfit:
—Originally, this wasn’t part of Japan, said McCrory. So the natives weren’t Japanese.
—So what were they? asked Kinser. Chinese?
—No, replied McCrory, it was an independent country called Ryukyu.
Kinser gave a slight nod, but he didn’t show any further interest. I wasn’t interested either.
After lying in bed for several days, I started recalling conversations and various incidents that had occurred on the island.
The island across the gulf was clearly visible under the afternoon sun. We’d finished unloading supplies from the cargo boats and were resting in the shade of a pile of crates next to the warehouse. Until three in the afternoon, we’d been conducting mop-up operations in search of Japanese soldiers hiding in the mountains, but we hadn’t found any of them. After we came down from the mountains and were about to get some rest, we were sent to help unload supplies at the port. It wasn’t a lot of work, but my three buddies and I were annoyed about being ordered to do extra chores. When we finished, we moved away from the others and sat chatting on the pier, while looking out at the sea.
—How about racing to that island and back? suggested Kinser.
Everybody agreed immediately, partly because we were feeling a bit rebellious. Even though we’d brought the island under US control, we knew it’d be dangerous to swim across without weapons. But at that point, we didn’t care if we ended up being reprimanded. We threw off our sweaty fatigues and kicked off our boots. Then we dashed across the pier and dove into the ocean.
It was about three hundred yards to the island. Though calm, the current was moving out to sea, but not so fast as to make it difficult to swim. Besides, we weren’t all that serious about racing; we’d just wanted an excuse to get in the water. Henry took the lead. He was a quiet fellow whom I could never read. Even after joining the same outfit, we’d never had a heart-to-heart talk. Until now, I never knew he was such a good swimmer.
The island had coral reefs along the coast on the opposite side, but nothing blocked our approach from the gulf. Though we hadn’t decided on any particular destination, the four of us naturally swam toward the beach. When I caught up with the last swimmer, I checked my position. There were only about a hundred yards left, so I started swimming all out. I passed McCrory and Kinser right away, but Henry was in a comfortable lead and reached the shallows about twenty yards ahead of me. As he was walking toward the beach, I saw a girl splashing through the water ahead of him. She looked about ten years old.
From the opposite shore, we had already noticed the girls wading in the ocean. Henry wasn’t chasing the girl, but she looked scared as she ran to her friends on the beach. Three girls of about the same age as the first had gathered around an older girl of about fifteen. All of them looked terrified. We were the enemy, so that was only natural, I guess, but getting such a reaction irritated the hell out of me.
The girl running away steadied the bamboo basket at her waist and yelled to her friends. Henry strode past her and grabbed the older girl’s clothes. The girl tried to get away while protecting her young companions. But then Henry wrapped his arms around her and covered her mouth with his hand. As I stood there in shock, Kinser raced past me, flung the younger girls to the sand, and grabbed the older girl’s legs. Then he and Henry lifted her up and carried her off to the trees at the back of the beach.
—Don’t do anything stupid! I yelled.
But my voice was drowned out by Kinser’s squeals of delight and the girl’s screams of horror.
I pushed off the girls pulling at me and dashed up the beach. In the thicket, Henry was holding the girl down. Meanwhile, Kinser was pulling down his trunks. The girl screamed and Kinser punched her in the face. Her head pitched back violently, and she fell silent for a moment. But when Kinser forced her legs apart, she screamed again. He started punching her in the face, but even then she continued to kick and scream. Infuriated, he punched her in the stomach and then wrapped his fingers around her throat.
—You make any more fuckin’ noise, I’ll fuckin’ kill you! he screamed.
It looked like he’d crush her throat, so I knew I should stop him. But I couldn’t do or say a thing. When Kinser loosened his grip, the girl, gasping for breath, tried to twist away. Kinser punched her in the stomach again, and she became motionless. After ripping off her top, he leaned over her small body.
—Son of a bitch! spit out McCrory, who was now standing nearby.
Repulsed by what Kinser was doing with his fingers, I turned around. The younger girls, huddled together on the beach, were crying and looking in our direction. Instinctively, I started to head toward them, but McCrory grabbed my arm.
—Don’t try to run away! he said.
His words annoyed me. But I knew that if I left, they’d say all kinds of stuff to me later. Or rather, they’d do all kinds of stuff to me later. Panting heavily, Kinser stood up, and Henry took his place. He finished in less than a minute. When we got the signal, McCrory headed over immediately. Kinser held down the girl’s hands, and Henry, who was pulling up his trunks while kneeling in the sand, flashed McCrory a smile. The girl’s power to resist was gone.
Without the slightest hesitation, McCrory climbed on top of the girl, about half his size. As I watched, I realized I’d have to do the same thing. But I couldn’t overcome my reluctance. It wasn’t out of pity for the girl. I was scared that if I did what the others had done, something inside me would be destroyed, and I’d never be the same. As McCrory moved his body, Kinser and Henry kept glancing over at me and grinning. Are you one of us or not? they seemed to be asking. I knew I had to do it, but I wasn’t sure I could.
McCrory took a deep breath and got up. Then he looked over at me and nodded. Mechanically, I stepped forward, pulled down my trunks, and spread the girl’s legs, which had fallen to the side, the knees pressed together. I knew I shouldn’t look, but my eyes moved down anyway. Blood and a milky liquid soiled the inside of her thighs, and a clammy odor rose from between her legs. I didn’t feel any desire at all. When I pressed my unresponsive body against hers, the heat of her body and the chill of the slippery fluids repulsed me. Fighting to overcome my own reluctance, I pretended to have sex.
—We loosened her up for you! yelled Kinser. So put your big thing in her!
Then he and Henry started laughing hysterically. Maybe they’d seen through me, but I felt sure I’d be accepted for having come this far.
With my elbows planted in the sand, I kept moving until I figured I’d performed enough. When I started to get up, my eyes met the half-open eyes beneath me. Well, not exactly met. The girl was avoiding my gaze and staring at something behind me. I turned around, and there was that bright red fruit. Never in my life had I seen such a malicious-looking color. The finely divided chunks looked like clumps of blood. At that moment, something split open inside me. Once the thin membrane had ruptured, primal feelings erupted from deep inside and oozed through my body like a runny egg yolk. The girl’s lips, distorted and covered with half-dried blood, were mocking me. Impulsively, I punched the swollen face with my fist. Someone whistled, but I didn’t know who. Son of a bitch! I cursed to myself. Blood suddenly rushed to my penis. Oblivious to the gore and bodily fluids, I forced myself into the body beneath me. As I covered the girl’s mouth and saw tears falling from the corners of her eyes, I moved my hips furiously, before I could figure out the source of my growin
g excitement: rage toward my buddies and the girl, self-loathing, or both.
—Check it out! jeered Kinser. He’s finally getting into it!
The others laughed.
Fantasizing about shooting all three of them, I ejaculated.
Catching my breath, I brushed off the sand sticking to my sweat-drenched body and stood up, trying to act composed. The girl’s legs remained spread open; she had lost the strength to close them. At the sight of the milky-white fluid dribbling from between her legs, a bitter liquid rose up into my throat. My hands dropped to my knees, and I started vomiting, only to be showered with laughter.
—You all right? asked McCrory, putting a hand on my shoulder.
I pushed his hand away and started walking toward the ocean. The girls huddled on the beach watched me spit numerous times. With my eyes averted, I had just reached the shoreline when I heard McCrory shouting:
—That’s enough!
I turned around and saw him holding Henry, who was trying to go after the younger girls. The waves engulfed my ankles and washed away the sand burning my feet. The sunlight reflecting off the surface was so bright I couldn’t see straight ahead. I dove into the ocean and let the water wash over my body. Pushing against the resistance of the waves, I began swimming toward the opposite bank.
I continued to sweat profusely, and my clammy back felt disgusting. I needed to wash my body in a mountain stream. The ocean water near the island never cooled, even at night. That’s why I wanted to swim in the cool river in the woods near my hometown, back in the States. My entire midsection felt like it was on fire, especially near the wound on my right side. The red fruit lodged in my abdomen was scorching my insides like a hot iron.
In the Woods of Memory Page 13