In the Woods of Memory

by Shun Medoruma

  —You can carry those by yourself? asked the supervisor, wearing the usual food industry surgical mask.

  I nodded and left. As I headed back along the walkway, I passed other students who were coming to pick up food and utensils for their classes. Suddenly, someone called from behind, and I turned around. It was the lady who had given the speech.

  —Thanks for listening so attentively, she said with a smile.

  —Uh, sure, I answered, looking down.

  —That was my first time speaking in front of people, so I was pretty nervous. But having you listening at the front was a huge help.

  I knew I should say something, but I couldn’t think of anything and hung my head.

  —My stories about the war must’ve been confusing. I’m sorry I was such a poor speaker.

  From the movement of shadow, I could tell she was bowing in apology. That’s not true! You were easy to understand, I muttered to myself, but I couldn’t manage to speak up. My silence must’ve made her uncomfortable.

  —Oh, you’re on lunch duty, she said. Sorry to interrupt.

  Then she started to move away.

  Just as I was getting up the courage to lift my head, I heard footsteps dashing past me. Then I heard the three other lunch-duty girls calling out:

  —Thank you for your speech!

  —I’m so glad we had the chance to hear you!

  —That was the most moving story about the war I’ve ever heard!

  They had spoken in rapid succession, and I could tell the lady was at a loss. You’d better get your ass moving! said Mina’s voice in my head, so I stared at the ground and headed back to the classroom. I could feel the lady’s gaze on my back, but her good intentions were blocked by the three cheery voices, and left to shrivel on the school’s grounds under the hot sun.

  —You had such a painful experience!

  —We all need to fight for peace!

  —People are still suffering from the war, aren’t they?!

  They don’t really feel that way, I thought. But then I hated myself for my pettiness and tried to make my mind blank. I climbed the stairs to my classroom on the second floor. The desks had been pushed together into groups of six. The students were talking in their seats or making noise at the back of the room or in the hallway. Beside the podium, the teacher was talking with the student council vice president and the broadcasting club member who usually read the announcements over the school’s public-address system When the teacher saw me, she asked:

  —You’re not doing that all by yourself, are you?

  —No, I answered, the others are picking up stuff, too.

  I put on one of the aprons and started distributing the milk cartons. I was afraid the boys would start making sarcastic comments. As I placed their milk in front of them, I could hear them thinking, I don’t wanna drink anything from you. But since the teacher was there, they just scowled. When I put down the milk for the volleyball team girls, Mina pushed her carton away with her index finger. She was the star attacker and one of the most popular girls in the school. The other two girls did the same thing, and then glared at me and laughed. To avoid their stares, I moved on to the next group. Some had their heads on their desks and others were chatting. Luckily, all of them ignored me.

  Just as I finished passing out the milk, the other three girls and two boys on lunch duty entered with the food and dishes. The teacher said to call in the students goofing off in the hallway and to have everyone sit down. Then she went around warning students that wouldn’t listen. Meanwhile, the lunch preparations continued. One girl ladled cream stew into small bowls, which I then distributed. I thought I was more likely to get comments about the stew, but the volleyball team girls just pushed their containers away like before, and everyone else ignored me. However, that meant something much worse was going to happen later, so I started to get fidgety. Once our jobs were finished, I took my seat and tried to hide my anxiety.

  All through lunch, the other five members of my group chatted, boys and girls separately. But no one spoke to me. This started from the beginning of the school year, so it didn’t bother me anymore. Actually, I was more nervous about someone throwing me off with a comment. The assistant homeroom teacher arrived and apologized to our teacher for being late. Then she carried two chairs to the groups at the front and sat in one of them. When our teacher told her about the speech, the assistant said she regretted not being able to attend because of other work. The girl sitting next to me mentioned that some of the girls had spoken with the lady on the way to the lunch center.

  —What did you say to her? the teacher asked. Did you give your opinions about the speech?

  The other two girls sitting in my group joined in, and the three took turns recreating the conversation. Everyone else became quiet, and our teacher listened with a big smile. I was so nervous about my name being mentioned that I couldn’t even taste the cream stew, which I normally enjoyed.

  Once the explanations were finished, and everyone started talking again, I could relax and think about the lady and her speech. I regretted that I hadn’t been able to give her a proper reply. The speech wasn’t enjoyable so much as painful, but it left a strong impression on me. She talked about how during the US naval bombings and air raids, she ran away and hid in a cave; how whenever a bomb exploded, the ground shook and the sound echoed around them; how terrified she was of being blown into pieces or buried alive under falling stones; how twelve people from two families in another cave were buried alive after a direct hit, with only a six-year-old boy surviving; how the boy had crawled into a space created by a blown-up pine tree, and was able to breathe thanks to air seeping in through a crevice; how the villagers frantically dug up the cave, and the women cried when they found all the bodies; and how one of the dead bodies was her classmate, but that after the dirt had been wiped from her face, she only looked like she was sleeping. At that point in her speech, the lady paused and looked out at us.

  —I was ten at the time. That’d be four years younger than you, right?

  When her eyes met mine, I couldn’t help looking down. I thought she might be checking to see if any of us resembled the girl who had died. Her story about people being buried alive was vivid, so everyone listened quietly, but during the other parts, there was an awful lot of talking. I couldn’t turn around to check, but I could hear the two teachers going around, warning students to keep their voices down. I had to admit the lady wasn’t a very good speaker. Sure, she was doing her best, but she was difficult to hear and sometimes stumbled over her words. And there were a lot of long pauses. She also talked about her childhood memories, such as going to the ocean to pick up shellfish and being terrified when she saw an American for the first time. During those parts, I couldn’t really picture what she was describing. And she seemed to sense the poor reaction. As her speech continued, her smile gradually faded, and she started to look confused. Making matters worse, her voice grew fainter and fainter. It was painful to watch, and I wanted to look away. But Mina and her friends had ordered me to pretend to listen, so I couldn’t.

  After about thirty minutes, the lady stopped and stared out at us again.

  —I’m really sorry, she said. I’m not a very good speaker, and I can tell that I’m boring you....

  She looked sincerely sorry.

  —At least you know it! jeered a boy in the back.

  A few seconds later, I heard the other class’s teacher scolding him. Next, I heard several girls and boys giggling, and then a boy yelling at them to shut up and listen. After that, the laughter grew even louder. The lady stared at all this in silence. After nearly a minute, her expression grew stern. Finally, as one might expect, everyone quieted down. Then the lady continued:

  —I was, uh, wondering, whether I should tell you about this... but since I doubt I’ll have another chance to talk to you, I think I will. So, uh, please listen just a little bit longer....

  She gave a little smile, and her cheeks and lips stiffened. I could tel
l she was bracing herself.

  —Hey! How long are you gonna eat! said one of the boys in my group. Start cleaning up!

  When I raised my head, I saw that lunch was over. Everyone looked over at me, staring into space with my spoon in my hand. Half the class erupted in laughter.

  —I’m sorry, I said, rushing to start cleaning up.

  In my haste, I knocked over my bowl of stew, which was still half full.

  —Eww! How disgusting!

  —What a klutz!

  —Hurry and wipe it up!

  —You make me sick!

  The comments were like slaps across the face. I ran out to the hall and grabbed one of the cleaning rags near the window. Then I hurried back to the classroom and wiped the desk. As I was rinsing out the rag in the sink, I saw the other lunch-duty girls heading off with the used food containers and milk cases. I quickly wrung out the rag and hung it up to dry. Then I grabbed a crate of dirty dishes and hurried to catch up. On the way, I ran into them on their way back to the classroom. As I was passing them with my head down, one of them stuck out her foot and tried to trip me. I stumbled but didn’t fall.

  —So close!

  —You almost got her!

  The other two girls laughed. As the first girl was pulling her foot back, she scowled and said:

  —Why didn’t you fall?

  —I’m sorry, I said, bowing in apology.

  At that moment, our PE teacher happened to be passing by. When the girls saw him, they quickly wished me good luck and scurried off to the classroom. I didn’t want to give the teacher a chance to question me, so I dashed off to the lunch center. After I dropped off the crate of dishes, I hurried back to the classroom to help with the noon cleaning.

  —Sorry to be late, I said, entering the classroom.

  I grabbed one of the brooms hanging on the back wall and began sweeping the floor. When I finished, I waited until the boys finished mopping the floor and then started returning the desks that had been pushed to the back. One group was in charge of the classroom; another was in charge of the hallway. Everyone worked very hard, even though they were talking at the same time. They figured that the sooner they finished, the more time they’d have for play. Personally, I wanted the cleaning to continue for a long time, but that wasn’t meant to be. When I finished pushing all the desks back to their proper places, the nicest girl in the class picked up the trash bags and said:

  —I’ll throw these away, so you wipe the desks.

  I nodded and said thanks. Then I picked up a cleaning rag and got to work. Just as I finished wiping down about half the desks, Mina came over and started scolding me:

  —You’re wiping the desks with that rag? Isn’t that the one you just used for the stew? That’s disgusting! Are you doing that on purpose?

  At first, I didn’t know how to answer. Several girls rushed over, and one of them asked:

  —What? What happened?

  Mina answered in an exaggerated tone of voice:

  —She used the same rag she used to wipe the stew to wipe our desks! And she did it on purpose!

  —What the hell do you think you’re doing?!

  —You’re harassing us, aren’t you?!

  —The smell’s gonna get on the desks!

  —Why don’t you wipe your face instead?!

  Battered with comments, I bowed my head and stood immobile. Suddenly, the rag was snatched from my hand and pressed against my face.

  —Stop it! said Mina. The rag’ll get dirty!

  Everyone laughed. Another rag came flying and hit me in the side of my face. Then someone poked me in the back of the head and demanded an apology.

  —I’m sorry, I whispered immediately. That was careless of me.

  —We can’t hear you! someone scolded.

  I tried to speak louder, but the words got caught in my throat. Struggling to breathe, I ended up not being able to say anything at all.

  —You always clam up like this!

  —That’s why everyone hates you! ‘Cause you won’t apologize even when you’ve done something wrong!

  —We’re telling you for your own good!

  —Oh, don’t expect someone like her to understand!

  —That’s true. Even when we’re nice to her, she twists everything and blabs to the teacher.

  About ten girls had gathered around, and the boys in the room were gawking. After somehow managing to control my breathing, I stood and prayed that the chime would ring.

  —We forgive you, said the student council vice president.

  —Yeah, we forgive you, said another.

  —I guess she didn’t really mean any harm, said Mina.

  —Huh? Didn’t you just say she did it on purpose?

  The other girls laughed.

  —I shouldn’t have said that, said Mina, turning to me, so I’ll give you the rest of my juice.

  Then she pushed the orange juice can under my nose.

  —But first, we’ll put our friendship in it, so look and see!

  Someone yanked my hair from behind, forcing me to raise my head. Standing in front of me, Mina raised the can to her lips and let some saliva dribble down into it.

  —Disgusting! someone yelled.

  Then Mina passed the can to one of her teammates.

  —I’ll put my friendship in, too, said the girl.

  Just like Mina, she let her saliva dribble down into the can. A boy who had been watching yelled:

  —Wow! I can’t believe you girls are doing this!

  Students in the hallway came in to watch, too. When all the girls had finished, the can was passed back to Mina. She gave the can a little shake and held it out to me.

  —Here you go, she said.

  When I resisted, someone grabbed my elbow and pushed my arm forward.

  —Hurry up and take it!

  Another girl grabbed my wrist and pressed the can into my hand.

  —Don’t you dare drop it! she said. Everyone’s friendship is in there!

  —No need to hold back! I’m sure it’s delicious!

  —You love orange juice, don’t you?

  —You’re not gonna betray our friendship, are you? Hurry up and drink it!

  —Why aren’t you drinking? Get a move on it!

  Bombarded with comments, I brought the can close to my face. But I couldn’t manage to put it to my lips.

  —Don’t be shy! Here, let me help you. Jeez, you’re so much trouble.

  Saying this, Mina grabbed my wrist. Another girl grabbed my hair from behind, so I couldn’t turn my head, while two other girls held me down, so I couldn’t run away. Then Mina put the can to my mouth. Since my mouth was closed, the juice flowed over my chin and down my neck. But then a hand reached out and plugged my nose to force my mouth open, while another hand held my chin. This time, the gloppy mixture was poured into my mouth. My throat convulsed, and fluid from my stomach pushed up against the fluid coming down. There were screams, and then the sound of the can falling on the floor.

  —Disgusting!

  —Eww, it got on my uniform!

  —Mine, too!

  As I doubled over, I saw chunks of half-digested vegetables scattered throughout the orange-and-white-colored vomit. The sight caused me to retch again. I quickly covered my mouth, but the vomit gushed through my fingers. I crouched down, and as the tears came to my eyes, everything became blurry. Don’t cry! I told myself. That’ll only make things worse! Curling myself into a ball, I tried to make myself disappear.

  —She’s so disgusting!

  —Yeah, and we just finished cleaning!

  —We have classes in the afternoon, you know!

  —If you’re gonna throw up, do it outside!

  —You, idiot! Don’t you know it stinks?!

  —You betrayed everyone’s friendship! And we were so worried about you.

  —She’s dangerous, isn’t she?!

  Somehow, I managed to apologize out loud.

  —Oh, you poor thing! said someone, squatting dow
n beside me. Are you okay?

  She wrapped her arm around me, and a split second later, I felt a piercing pain in my back. As I jerked back, a gold-colored thumbtack rolled across the floor.

  —Jeez! And she was just trying to be nice! said the student in the broadcasting club.

  As everyone laughed, the chime sounded.

  —Mr. Tamaki’s coming! someone called from the hallway, and everyone scurried to their seats.

  Our social studies teacher entered the classroom and immediately sensed that something was wrong. He stopped the class representative from initiating the class greeting and looked out over the podium. When he noticed me crouched down at the back of the room, he walked down the aisle to check on me.

  —What’s wrong? he asked, putting a hand on my shoulder and stooping down to look in my face.

  —Nothing, I said.

  —Well, obviously something’s wrong, he said, sounding a bit annoyed.

  When I fell silent, he shook me by the shoulders and yelled:

  —Tell me what happened!

  —When she was drinking juice, said the girl in the last seat, she choked and spit up.

  —Really? asked the teacher, turning toward her.

  —Yes, really, said another girl. We were telling jokes, and she laughed so hard she choked on her orange juice.

  —That happened before, too, didn’t it? said a boy by the window.

  —Really? cut in another boy. She puked before?

  Some other students laughed. Taking his hand off my shoulder, the teacher stared at me and asked:

  —Is that really what happened?

  —Yes, I’m sorry, I answered.

  —Why don’t I take her to the school nurse? Mina called out.

  My body instinctively went stiff.

  —Sure, would you do that, please?

  As the teacher stood up, Mina hurried over to me.

  —Let’s wash your face, she said in a gentle voice.

  She put one arm around my back, another under my arm, and pulled me to my feet. As we were leaving the room, I heard one of the volleyball team members calling to the teacher: