In the Woods of Memory

by Shun Medoruma

  —An inch to the side, the army surgeon had said, and you’d have gotten it in the liver.

  He explained that the harpoon had penetrated to my bowels, and that the barbs got caught on my intestines when it was pulled out, causing some lacerations. Then he added:

  —It’s not too serious.

  I sensed the hidden scorn in his voice. No, it wasn’t even hidden; his sarcastic comment made his feelings obvious. The surgeons and medics looked down on me because not only hadn’t I been wounded in combat, but I had been stabbed by a civilian while swimming unarmed.

  Apart from getting angry and clenching my fist, there was nothing I could do. The gecko on the beam over my bed started to cry. Then another joined in. Even the geckos sounded like they were mocking me. Kinser said they were creepy and killed as many as he could. When McCrory told him to stop, he laughed.

  —What’s the big deal? We’re killing bigger ones every day.

  His forced laughter was just to make himself look big.

  When we were driving to the village, he was laughing like that the entire time. He laughed when the men under that big tree recoiled in fear after we turned our guns on them. He laughed when we kicked that shoddy house’s door down. He laughed when we dragged that woman out. And he laughed when he caught one of the men off guard and punched him in the stomach.

  —They ring that bell every time we come! It’s a welcome bell!

  As we rattled along in the jeep, Kinser kept laughing. The driver was one of his buddy’s from another platoon. Shouting over the engine noise, they took turns heaping abuse on everyone in the village:

  —The men are as submissive as dogs!

  —Yeah, and did you catch the look on that guy’s face when we had his woman?

  —The kids are like flies pestering us for gum and chocolate!

  —That last bitch was too old.

  —Well, find a younger one next time!

  Now, they were probably joking about me. Yeah, one of those submissive dogs did him in! I could hear them talking behind my back, the bastards. What the hell did they know about friendship? I recalled the shabby-looking villagers watching us from under that tree. The guy who stabbed me must’ve been among them. We should’ve shot every fuckin’ last one of them when we had the chance! Clenching my fist made my side hurt even more. Sweat slid down my scalp and down behind my ears. Outside were several of those trees with roots hanging down from the branches. I could hear the hooting of the owls coming from their direction. For a moment, the sound made me forget that we were in a war zone.

  In less than two weeks, the Japanese army in the mountainous central area of the peninsula had abandoned their positions and fled. Though we still had to deal with small arms fire and occasional night raids, they were incapable of mounting any organized resistance. Their main army had retreated to the south, and it was our job to flush out the Japs hiding in the mountains. The village was already under our control, so we didn’t take the disheartened men of the village too seriously. They were scared and cautious at first, but after we gave them food and medical treatment, they made a complete about-face and became cooperative. There was no denying that their new attitude had put us off our guard. I now regretted my carelessness.

  —Let’s go, said Kinser.

  The four of us walked over to the pier. We hadn’t had any sorties into the mountains that day; we’d spent the morning cleaning our weapons and equipment, and we were free for the afternoon. After stripping down to our trunks, we dove into the ocean from the shade of some freight. Due to the sunlight streaming through the water, the ocean was a beautiful color. The water caressed our skin, even as our backs got scorched. This time, no one was interested in racing or betting, so we swam at a leisurely pace toward the island.

  This ocean’s the only thing of value here, I was thinking, as I took up the rear. Henry, who was in the lead, was signaling for us to look to the right. Someone was swimming toward us. Appearing out of nowhere, a young villager was about fifty yards away. I tensed up, thinking he might be an enemy soldier. But then he smiled, waved with both hands, and headed back toward the pier.

  —Was that a fisherman? McCrory asked.

  No one answered. But since the man was alone and appeared to be unarmed, we nonchalantly kept swimming toward the island.

  Two or three minutes passed. Suddenly, something thrust up from beneath me. Before I could realize what was happening, the water around me was turning dark red. My hand instinctively pressed down on my side, and when I noticed blood gushing out, I fell into a panic. Kinser immediately swam over to support me. Meanwhile, McCrory and Henry swam after the attacker, who then hurled a harpoon at them. A black string shot up out of the water, and the spray sparkled in the sunlight. McCrory dodged to the side, but the harpoon caught him in the shoulder. The attacker dove into the water and disappeared. With Kinser at my side, I floated on my back while pressing down on the wound with one hand. McCrory swam back and supported me from the other side. Ignoring the blood flowing from his own shoulder, he encouraged me instead. Following McCrory’s instructions, Henry started swimming to the pier to get help. Even though I was now pressing down with both hands, the blood still oozed between my fingers. Encouraged by my two supporters, I somehow managed to stay calm, but I was terrified that I’d die right there in the ocean. I gritted my teeth, but I couldn’t stop shivering. Though my face and chest burned from the sunlight, I felt as if I were freezing to death.

  Later, I heard that the soldiers at the warehouse had sprung into action before Henry even reached them. Noticing something was wrong, they immediately sent out a boat. I remember being lifted aboard, but when they pulled my hands away to apply a cloth, I lost consciousness. When I came to, I was lying in a cot. McCrory, Kinser, and Henry took turns visiting and filling me in on the situation. They told me that the guy who’d attacked us had been captured in a cave in the woods and was now being questioned. Since he was being treated for gunshot wounds sustained during his capture, the interrogation wasn’t making much progress, but apparently he had no ties to the Japanese army and had acted on his own.

  —We should’ve shot him on the spot! snarled the usually taciturn Henry.

  His unexpected comment pleased me. When I was lifted out of the boat and set on the pier, I had been as pale as a sheet and bleeding profusely. For my operation, Kinser and McCrory, who had the same blood type as me, both volunteered for blood transfusions. I could never thank the three of them enough. We were from completely different parts of the country, so if we hadn’t ended up in the same outfit, we never would’ve known each other. I wanted to fight with them until the end, so I was bitterly disappointed to learn that I’d be the only one left behind.

  The gecko cried out in the darkness. I couldn’t see him, and being in a silent sickroom late at night, the cry startled me. How much longer did I have to stay here? When I asked the doctor, he wouldn’t give me a definite answer. But from my condition, I knew I wouldn’t be joining the battle in the south. My progress was unsatisfactory, and the doctor implied that I should be transferred to a proper hospital. That didn’t please me in the least.

  Last night, Kinser and Henry paid me a visit.

  —We’re being transferred tomorrow, said Kinser with a laugh.

  He firmly gripped the hand I held out to him. He explained that our unit would be joining the rest of the army, which was closing in on the Japanese, fleeing to the south. Then he asked:

  —So how’s the wound?

  I explained that it was a bit infected, but that it didn’t hurt.

  —You were unconscious when we got you out of the boat, you know. So we didn’t think you’d make it. With a wound like that, you’ve made an impressive recovery, I’d say.

  Unsure whether he was being sincere or sarcastic, I smiled. Suddenly, a sharp pain shot through me, and I grimaced.

  —You okay? asked Kinser, leaning in close.

  —Naw, I’m just acting, I answered, forcing a smile.

&
nbsp; Kinser nodded and smiled back.

  —Listen, Okinawa’s gonna fall. And the war’s gonna be over soon. Sure, you might be heading home early, but we’ll be joining you in no time.

  I couldn’t say anything to that. Perhaps guessing that I was depressed, Kinser bawled out in a loud voice:

  —Don’t you worry! We’ll kill every fuckin’ Jap, and fry those damn rats hiding in their ratholes!

  Then he pretended like he was spraying the area with a flamethrower.

  As they started moving off, Henry, who’d been silent up until then, said:

  —See you later.

  —Yeah, see you back in the States, I answered, getting choked up.

  The two appeared blurry as they left the room. When they were gone, I felt annoyed at myself for not being able to join them—all because of a stupid wound. I glared at the ceiling and cursed myself. When that guy disappeared, why didn’t I notice him coming after me? And why weren’t we more cautious when we first spotted him? I knew it was too late to do anything, but I felt thoroughly disgusted at my carelessness.

  Heated up with anger, my wound throbbed with pain. I stared down at my body, which I couldn’t even lift out of bed, and my anger turned to self-loathing. I was being sent home as a wounded GI. How pathetic! My family and hometown would praise me for my wound of honor and distinction. The thought depressed me. Not that I wanted everyone to know the truth. I was stabbed swimming across a stretch of water to get women on an island. On top of that, the guy who stabbed me wasn’t a soldier, but a young civilian. If all that was made known, I wouldn’t be able to show my face again. My family would be deeply shocked and disappointed.

  Stuck in my cot, I could only escape these thoughts through sleep. As I endured the heat and pain, I waited for sleep to crawl across me like a snail and then wrap me in its protective shell.

  Suddenly, pale light was streaming through the window, so I must’ve escaped into sleep. Memories of the island returned whether I was dreaming or awake, so I often felt disoriented upon awakening. This time, however, the fresh light and early morning chill offered the promise of a new day.

  But then it dawned on me that the fellows were probably preparing for their departure. My feelings of shame and anger returned. I didn’t want to lose that rare early-morning sense of invigoration, but I instantly became depressed. I didn’t want to be sent home like this. I’m sure some guys in my outfit were calling me a coward behind my back. And I wasn’t sure what Henry and Kinser were saying either. I pictured them laughing and joking with their friends. He couldn’t even get it up at first! one would say. At first? the other would reply. I bet he was faking all the way to the end! The blood rushed to my head, and my face burned. But then I loathed myself for suspecting them, and the blood subsided. I remembered the look on McCrory’s face when he warned me on the beach. Don’t try to run away! he had said. Yet wasn’t that precisely what I was doing by not going with them? My mind was starting to go in circles again. Unable to stop the unpleasant thoughts, I closed my eyes and took some deep breaths. Just then, I heard a consoling voice:

  —So how are you feeling?

  McCrory, in combat fatigues and with his helmet under his arm, was standing next to my bed. He had a gentle smile on his face.

  —Sorry, I answered.

  My reply puzzled him at first, but then the meaning sunk in.

  —Oh, you were just unlucky.

  If someone else had said that, I might’ve objected, but with McCrory, I just nodded meekly.

  —I was busy yesterday, he said, so I couldn’t come with the fellows. Still, I wanted to see you before we shoved off.

  —Thanks, I said.

  He smiled in embarrassment, and for a moment, we stared at each other in silence.

  —Uh, I made this, he said.

  From his breast pocket, he pulled out a black lump attached to a chain. Then he dangled before my eyes a pendant made from a harpoon tip.

  —That’s not what I think it is, is it? I asked.

  McCrory nodded and said:

  —My dad told me soldiers should keep any bullet or shrapnel that hits them. ‘Cause they make great charms. When I fought in Saipan, several fellows made pendants out of bullets. But needless to say, nobody made one from a harpoon. Sorry for the poor job, but I hope you like it.

  McCrory handed me the pendant. He had filled the hollow part of the tip with lead and passed a chain through a tiny iron loop attached at the top. The lead made it heavier than it looked.

  —How’d you get this? I asked.

  —When the guy attacked, McCrory proudly explained, the harpoon was attached to his ankle with a string, and he still had it with him when he was in that cave. It was confiscated as evidence, but, uh... well, let’s just keep that a secret. Actually, that’s why I couldn’t come yesterday. I was taking care of this.

  McCrory flashed a mischievous grin and glanced at his watch. Then he became serious and said:

  —Well, I better be shoving off.

  We shook hands and promised to meet again.

  After McCrory left, I stared at the handmade pendant. As I listened to the medics and wounded stirring in the sunlit room, I suppressed the sentimental feelings welling up in me. I squeezed the pendant in my hand, and the tip and barbs cut into my flesh. To punish myself, I squeezed harder, closed my eyes, and embraced the pain.

  I don’t know how long I tormented myself, but suddenly the room was quiet. When I opened my eyes again, the room was dark, and the light filtering in through the window had changed to pale moonlight. Had a full day passed already? I thought I’d just said goodbye to McCrory, but maybe it was all a dream. But it couldn’t have been; I could feel the pendant in the palm of my hand. I was going to lift my hand to check, but I couldn’t move. Thinking I was paralyzed, I took a deep breath to release the tension.

  Just then, I noticed the red fruit hanging from the beam over my bed. A cold sweat broke out over my whole body, and I tensed up even more. The fruit was quivering and squirming. Peering through the darkness, I noticed it was covered with large red hornets. I tried to call for help, but I couldn’t speak. When I tried to twist away, a sharp pain shot through my side, and my body went stiff. The more frantically I tried to speak, the more difficult it became to breathe. The large hornets, about half the size of my little finger, were jostling against one another. Suddenly, one dropped off and came flying straight toward me. A scream froze in my throat, followed by the sensation of a pebble striking me in the chest. Something slimy spread out over my skin. Then I realized that the hair on my chest was covered in gore. The fruit had transformed into a gooey clump of blood, and large drops were dripping down onto me. Flowing down my neck, along my sides, and over my belly, the blood slithered over me like a red snake pinning me to the bed.

  At the foot of my bed, a girl with long hair was staring at me. I immediately knew it was her. Her eyes turned to the ceiling. The clump of blood glistened garishly in the darkness—and then fell. The blow to my chest knocked the breath out of me. As blood splattered across my face, I blinked and looked down. The clump was now twisting and turning. A newborn baby, covered in blood and still attached to an umbilical cord, moved its gaping mouth and tiny arms and legs. The heaviness and slime made me think I was going crazy. The girl reached out and pulled the baby to her chest. Then she stared at me with a vacant look. A deep sadness was frozen in the depths of her eyes. This is her baby, I thought. Then the baby shook its head and looked at me. At that moment, I knew everything that was going to happen. The tip of the harpoon in my hand cut deep into my flesh, and the blood dribbled down my arm. The baby began crying feebly. The girl pressed her palm to the baby’s wet forehead and whispered something. After a while, the girl and the baby disappeared, but the whispers and feeble cries never left me.

  BULLIED GIRL [2005]

  I headed to the lunch pickup area, instead of my classroom. I had just left the auditorium, after listening to a speech about the Battle of Okinawa. The prefect
ure’s June 23 Memorial Day was approaching, so our homeroom teacher had invited a college friend’s seventy-year-old mother to talk to a couple of classes about her war experiences. Mina had told me to sit up front and pretend to listen, so that’s what I did. Sitting right in front of the podium, I kept my eyes on the lady for the entire speech. I didn’t have to pretend, though, because she was pretty interesting. I considered myself lucky to be able to sit up front, but I was so stressed out about what was going on behind me that I had a hard time concentrating. My classmates, apart from Mina and her group, would think I was putting on a show for our teacher again. Or Mina might spread such a rumor on purpose. That made me think something bad was in store for me later. I got so nervous I had trouble breathing. Trying not to hyperventilate, I concentrated on the speech for the entire forty minutes.

  The chime rang shortly after she’d finished. As planned, our class representative expressed some words of thanks, which were read from prepared notes. I could sense the impatience of everyone behind me. Thinking that their frustration might be taken out on me later, I broke out in a cold sweat. I prayed that our teacher would be accommodating and wrap things up quickly. The lady received a small bouquet and said a few word of thanks. Then the other class representative gave the signal for all the students to bow. A moment later, I could hear the boys in the back pushing open the doors and rushing out of the room. The lady looked surprised but returned to her chair and sat down. As she waited for everyone to leave, she stared at the floor. I overheard our teacher thanking her for giving a moving and instructive speech. I sat with my head down and listened to my teacher and the noisy students. When I figured most of the students were gone, I lined up behind the stragglers at the exit.

  The auditorium was on the second floor. I went downstairs, walked along the covered walkway past the faculty room, and headed to the pickup area near the school’s rear entrance. Not many students had arrived yet. I opened the screen door and entered. Cases of bread, containers of food, crates of dishes and eating utensils, and other items had been divided up for each classroom. I lifted up several cases of milk cartons with both hands.